


Boys of Summer

by roxymissrose



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Happy Ending, Multi, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:05:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 125,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxymissrose/pseuds/roxymissrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex and Clark grow in Smallville in this AU. Romance, drama, angst--a little bit of everything, but mostly true love.</p><p>originally posted: 2004</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I thought it might be interesting to write a story about Lex, Clark and Whitney growing up together in Smallville. This is, of course, wildly AU--which should come as no surprise. Bad things happen, sad things happen, but in the end, it all works out. 
> 
> Thanks to Fromward, Capnzebbi, Beet and so many other friends, who worked so hard with me to make this an interesting story.

cover by [ctbn60](http://ctbn60.livejournal.com/)

**PROLOUGE**

Mrs. Moran led the skinny, red-headed boy to the front of the class, her arm around his small bowed shoulders. "Class, please say hello to our new student." She looked down at the timid boy and smiled. "What do you like to be called, hon?”

 

His voice was barely audible as he replied, "My da—family calls me Lex—”

 

"All right then," she said softly, so only he could hear, and then louder to the other students, "Class, say hello to Lex.”

 

The class erupted into a chorus of "Hello Lex", and quite a few snickers, and the teacher allowed the obviously uncomfortable boy to sit. She watched him choose a seat as far back as he could get, and wasn't surprised that he wanted to keep to himself. As he passed seats to get to his choice, a bigger boy looked up and grinned at him in a friendly way. Lex tentatively responded, then let his head drop. The other boy's smile dimmed and he looked concerned.

 

From her vantage point at her desk Mrs. Moran saw Clark's look, and smiled to herself. She didn't have to worry about Lex; it looked like Clark was about to adopt another stray. She glanced over to where Pete Ross sat, and felt good about her young charges. Clark had taken Pete under his wing—it was hard being different in a town where everyone was very much alike, and Clark had made sure that Pete wasn't alone. He was a really good kid, she thought, definitely destined for good things. 

 

**FIFTH GRADE 1997**

Clark motioned for Lex to sit with his friends and him at lunch. Lex looked grateful to find a place with Clark and the others and dropped his bag on the table. Clustered around the end of it sat a little girl with brown hair, a blonde boy and a black boy. The black boy waved at him and smiled. "Hi, I'm Pete," he managed between bites of his sandwich. Lex smiled back and nodded hello.

 

The blonde boy looked over at him. "Whitney," he said firmly and looked Lex over with a not-quite approving expression on his face. 

 

The girl gave him a tiny smile "Lana," she whispered, and looked up at him through her lashes. Lex smiled back and said "Hello," in an equally quiet way. 

 

Clark watched his friends be nice to the new boy with satisfaction, and turned to Lex.

 

"So, you're not from around here at all?" Clark just wanted to get Lex talking, he knew that Lex was from Metropolis, knew that he was richer than anyone in Smallville, and that his dad was kind of a creep, or at least sounded like one from what his dad said when he thought Clark wasn't listening.

 

Lex nodded, opened the paper bag and reached in. Everyone stopped to see what a rich kid brought to lunch. A little sigh of disappointment went round the table as he pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in an ordinary plastic container. Lex looked up at the disappointed faces and his own expression drooped. Than his eyes met Clark's and he relaxed a bit at the big grin on Clark's face. 

 

"So…p b and j, hunh? If you pull an apple out of there and a note from your Mom, you're officially a geek.”

 

Lex blushed red and crumbled the bag shut as fast as he could, but stopped when Clark laughed and pulled a peanut butter sandwich out of his own lunch bag, and an apple. He set them down on the table. "Yep, you're one of us!"

 

"Speak for yourself, Clark" Pete retorted, and blew the paper sleeve of his straw at him. "Not a geek, never will be."

 

The others joined Pete in their protest, and the friends teased and joked with each other and slowly drew Lex into their circle. Clark watched it all with a huge grin.

~o0o~

The bus riders trooped onto their assigned buses, and Whitney and Clark went quickly to their seats. They had a plan for after school and wanted to discuss it. Pete and Lana sat together and talked; Pete tried to keep his enormous crush on her in check, and Lex sat with a stranger.

 

They'd been surprised once again. The rich kid was riding the bus with them and they were beginning to doubt that he was really rich. Wouldn't he have a chauffeur pick him up, and wouldn't he have like, caviar for lunch, or some other rich people's food? 

 

The bus drew up to Clark's stop. After saying good-bye to Whitney, he stood, glanced back towards the rear of the bus, and caught Lex's eyes. The look in his eyes made Clark stop. Lex looked like Death was waiting for him at the next bus stop, and Clark knew he couldn't leave him all alone. He shrugged at Whitney and jerked his chin to the back of the bus; Whit lifted a bit in his seat and looked back too, rolled his eyes, and waved his hand in a shooing motion to the rear of the bus. Clark grinned, and went back to sit with Lex. "Hey, I ‘m gonna get off with you at your stop, okay?"

 

Lex stared at him. "There's nothing around there, your stop isn't near my house, I know…" He blushed and felt annoyed—but a little pleased too. "You don't have to baby-sit me, you know."

 

"Of course I know that," Clark said, "but I figured maybe you'd want to have someone to walk with, at least until you're used to the place, right?" Lex looked doubtful until Clark asked him, "Have you ever seen these before?" and pulled two dog-eared copies of Warrior Angel out of his book bag. Lex's eyes widened a bit and he grinned at Clark. 

 

"Sure! I like that book—and that's no way to handle a comic book, you know!" 

 

Clark grinned and let Lex ramble on about comic care and comic books in general, and in no time they were at Lex's stop. Lex stood and began to walk down the aisle. He seemed to stumble and he fell. Pete shouted "Hey!"and started to get up, but Clark shook his head, and Pete subsided, shooting dark looks at the person responsible. Clark knew Lex been tripped and he was angry, but Lex got up and ignored it, ignored the snickers, and ignored Clark's concern. Clark glowered at the culprit, a look that said _you're in deep trouble if you try it again._ Snickering stopped. The biggest boy in fifth grade just declared Lex off limits for teasing, and it was easier to go along with Clark than to go against Clark when he wore his crusader hat, so just like that, Lex was granted immunity. 

 

Off the bus, and Clark trotted to catch up with Lex. "Hey, do you have to walk home too?" he panted.

 

Lex looked at him like he was slightly insane. "Well, I don't know about you, but I can't fly. How else do I get home?”

 

"Don't you have like, a driver or something? Rich people on TV always have drivers." Clark walked along beside Lex, scuffing through the leaves on the roadside.

 

"Chauffeurs and I'm so sorry to keep disappointing you like this," Lex replied. "Nope. No driver. Dad doesn't do that stuff here. 'Fresh air and exercise do a body good, young man'," he said, in a voice obviously intended to mimic his dad, and Clark grinned.

 

”So, if it was up to you, you'd want the chauffeur and maybe something better than pb and j for lunch?" 

 

They both kicked up the piles of leaves on the roadside as they walked and Lex cut his eyes towards Clark, grinning as he said, "Hell, yeah! Wouldn't you?”

 

Clark was simultaneously shocked and thrilled to hear Lex curse. He really was different, Clark thought and looked at his new friend in admiration. They were in sight of the huge stone heap that Lex lived in, ‘the castle' everyone called it, even though it didn't look like a castle to Clark. Where was the moat?

"Hey, I gotta go now, okay? I don't want to get in trouble by coming home too late—say Lex, if you feel like it later, come by my house—here," Clark scribbled his phone number on a piece of paper ripped from a notebook. "Whitney and I are going to build a fort, want to help?”

 

Clark looked so expectant that Lex grinned back at him. "If it's okay with my dad, yeah, I'll come.”

 

"Cool," Clark said and turned back to run down the road. He'd wait until he got far enough away, then he'd cut over into the fields out of sight and run really fast all the way home. He was always super careful not to let anyone know he could run so fast, just like his dad said he should.

~o0o~

Lex watched him run and a little ball of ice in his chest melted away. He had a friend! A real friend, not someone he made up to keep his parents off his back.

 

He let the smile wanting to get out wreath his face, and ran up the stairs to the front door. Maybe he could get Cook to make some cookies to bring with him if his dad said he could go. Was that cool to do, he mused to himself as he waited to be let in. He better ask Clark first.

 

**MARCH**

It was cool in the woods off of the Kent farm—that had been another revelation to Lex. A real farm, complete with farmers. Mr. Kent was huge and a little scary and he didn't wear overalls, just some beat up jeans. Clark's mom wasn't plump and didn't wear her hair in a bun, in fact she was kind of—sexy looking, Lex thought and blushed, snuck a quick glance at Clark. He supposed he was feeling the same way that the guys had felt when he didn't have rich people food for lunch. He grinned at himself. Goofy.

 

They'd gotten a pretty good start on the fort and Mr. Kent was helping, or at least as much as Clark would let him. Lex was surprised to learn how stubborn Clark could be. Lex always saw him as a goody two shoes, but maybe not so much.

 

They were working on the roof; Whitney was holding a hammer for Clark, who was climbing on the roof beams, Pete was hammering away at a side wall with Lana, and Lex stood ready to run for whatever they needed. 

 

"Clark, let me do that will you?"Mr. Kent sounded a little annoyed, and Lex glanced at him, trying to judge how angry he was and ready to edge away, when Clark yelled down, "Dad! I've got it! I can do it.”

 

Time stopped. Lex froze. He waited for…for something terrible. But Mr. Kent just rolled his eyes at Clark and muttered, "Yes sir,"—Pete and Lana hadn't stopped working and Lex forced himself to relax and let go of the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

 

He had so much fun that day. When they took a break from working, they sat around the little clearing eating sandwiches and drinking ice tea—Lex thought it was the best food ever. Mrs. Kent had even sent a plastic container of cookies along and Lex had to admit, they were better than Cook's. 

 

Mr. Kent talked and joked with them and at one point ruffled Lex's hair wildly and called him ‘Red' and it made him feel stupidly happy—he couldn't stop grinning, not even when he caught sight of Clark smiling at him fondly.

Not even when he thought he saw Whitney glare at him.

~o0o~

Whitney was walking his bike near the end of the castle drive when Lex came rolling up on his bike.

He stopped and gave Lex a long level look.

 

"What?" he asked flatly.

 

Lex tried to smile, but he was a little shy of Whitney. He kind of scared Lex sometimes. There was something about him that made him seem older than the rest of the guys—something that lurked in the corner of every smile and sometimes clouded his blue eyes. Lex thought he recognized what it was, figured he and Whit had more in common than Clark and Pete did—that's why he wanted to be better friends with him. He thought Whit could use the kind of friend he could be, the kind of friend who would understand things Clark just couldn't. Lex wouldn't mind having someone he could talk to, either.

 

"I—can I ride with you today? I don't have anything else to do, so—"

 

"Sure," Whitney replied. "I don't care.”

 

"Good."

 

They rode together, not speaking, just concentrating on the road, the summer sun warming them as they pedaled leisurely along. A slight breeze dried the sweat the heat rose. Silence hung around them comfortably, broken only by the sound of their tires whirring on the asphalt and the low drone of a plane in the distance. They rode farther than usual, until there was nothing around them but fields and they were on a dirt access road between farms. Whitney told Lex there was a pond a little ways off the road, so they headed over to see what they could find—frogs or something, and they speculated as to whether any rare species could be in it.

 

"You can get a lot of money for discovering a new kind of animal, it's a fact," Whitney was saying. He looked over at Lex and said, "Not that you give a shit about money."

 

Lex laughed and Whitney grinned. 

 

"Fuck you, Whit, "he said and Whitney's eyes got big, and he looked at Lex in something like admiration.

 

"Whoa, Luthor, didn't know you knew those kinda words—kiss your mom with that mouth?"

 

Lex laughed and stuck his tongue out, waggled it at Whitney and said, "Naw, but I kiss your mom with this and she likes it!”

 

Neither one of them had any real idea of what that meant but clearly in some way his mother had been insulted and Whitney was honor bound to defend her. He jumped Lex, and they wrestled and thumped each other and laughed a lot, and finally ended up sitting against a fence just talking—getting to really know each other.

 

"…so, he's kind of a dick. I just keep away from him as much as I can.”

 

Lex nodded, seeing the wisdom in that. "Yeah. My old man's gone most of the time.”

 

"Lucky you," Whitney huffed. "I wish the guy had a job that would take him away from me and my mom for weeks. That'd be great. But no, he's got that stupid store, and I've got to be there doing stuff," he spit to the side and glowered, and Lex felt guilty for not having to deal with his dad all the time like Whit did. "You know, Clark's a great guy," Whitney said, "but he doesn't understand this stuff, he doesn't get it."

 

Lex felt a little odd, scared—he didn't want Whit to say bad things about Clark, but Whitney went on to say, "Not that I don't think he's great, he is, he's just dense sometime!" 

 

They laughed, grinned at each other. They got it, they were soldiers in the same war.

 

Whitney stood up, and grabbed Lex's hand to pull him up, too. "Come on Red, let's get back before the bastards send the hounds out after us," he snickered. Lex let himself be pulled to his feet, and thought, even though Clark was his very best friend, Whit was real cool too. It was like Pete always said; you had to give someone a chance first, before you write them off. Lex was giving Whit a chance, he hoped Whit was giving him one….

 

Whitney looked at Lex and said, "You know, at first I thought you were just kind of hogging Clark to yourself, trying to take over. It made me mad, because we've all been friends since first grade, and you were the new guy. But you're kind of cool. I like you."

 

Lex grinned back and felt a bloom of warmth all through him. _Jesus, don't let me blush like a girl…_ "Same here," he said and vibrated under the thud of Whitney's fist hitting his arm.

 

"Good." 

 

Lex grinned all the way back to the castle, and somewhere in his muddle of happy thoughts floated the recollection of really intense blue eyes.

 

**JUNE**

School had been over for a month, and the fort was nearly finished. The walls were up and as Mr. Kent said, the roof was sound. Lex smiled, remembering Pete and Clark imitating Mr. Kent, standing with their chests puffed out, and hooting, "The roof is sound, m'boy!”

 

It always gave Lex a little shiver along with the laugh. They were so bold! But Mr. Kent, he just laughed right along with them, it was…it was… _cool._

~o0o~

Pete and Lex were at The Pond, playing with Pete's Ninja Turtles. They'd built a dungeon and were working on a bridge for the turtles to swing on when Pete said, "So. Whit's dad is a jerk, hunh?" He moved his turtle over the lake they'd made for them, seemingly concentrated completely on what he was doing.

 

"Hunh?" Lex tried to act uninterested. "Why?"

 

Pete had to stop and look at Lex. "Red! Have you ever seen Whit with his shirt off?" 

 

Lex swallowed, his mouth instantly gone dry, and it took him a couple of tries before his voice worked. "No, no I haven't..."

 

"Man! He's always all bruised up." Pete looked concerned and said seriously, "I think his dad beats him." He stared at Lex, waiting for some reaction. Lex said nothing, Whitney hadn't given him permission to tell, and he knew Whit wouldn't care for Pete and Clark to discuss him. He just looked at Pete until he began to fidget.

 

"Well, I think so," Pete grumbled. "Or, or maybe he gets it playing football...."

 

"Maybe—maybe, Pete. So, how's Sam doing?" 

Lex stuck a turtle head-down in the lake and Pete slapped his hand away as he rescued it. "Him? He sucks," Pete snapped.

 

"He's leaving soon, hunh?"

 

Pete looked pretty pitiful, and it went right to Lex's heart. Pete mumbled, "Yeah, I get to have his room, he said so. My mom said it's okay."

 

"You know, you're lucky you have brothers, Pete."

 

"You only think that 'cause you don't have any —besides, you do have brothers! You've got three, remember, we're the Mousekteers?"

 

"Musketeer, Pete—read a book, why don't you."

 

"Read? That's what they make movies for!"

 

Lex snorted, and shoved the turtles into the mud, and grinned as he watched Pete yank them back out and rinse them. He sobered quickly when he caught sight of Pete's face, crumbled and creased, and said, "Pete, it's okay if you're sad about it—”

 

"What for? Sam beats me up all the time, and takes my stuff and hogs the TV and—" One fat tear rolled down, dropped off the end of his nose.

 

"Idiot," Lex said gruffly, fondly, and punched his shoulder. Pete didn't look up, but he grinned and wiped his face.

 

"Don't tell anyone Red. I'd really hate to have to kill you. Ow! Faggot!"

 

Lex laughed and punched Pete again "What, a little punch like that? Girly-man! Let's head back, okay, Pete?"

Pete agreed and started to gather his turtles. "Yeah, I'm hungry now...."

 

"Ooo! Really? Wow! News flash, Pete Ross hungry—oof! Okay, okay, we're even now!" Lex laughed and put up his hands to ward Pete off. 

 

He grinned, and not for the first time that year, Lex thought how lucky he was to have such good friends.

~o0o~

Clark, Whitney and Pete were on the rec room couch watching TV; Lex was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, reading a book. Whitney sat with his legs against the back of the couch and his head hanging off the seat. Every so often, he blew into Lex's ear, did it so often that Lex barely registered it anymore; the smack he dealt Whit's head was automatic.

 

"What are you reading," he whispered into Lex's ear. Lex turned and was face to face with Whitney, who grinned. Lex blushed, a wave of warmth swept over him and he scrubbed at his ear in an annoyed way. Whit grinned even wider, until Clark nudged him with his foot. 

 

"Leave Red alone, he's trying to read!" 

 

Whitney turned his head toward Clark, ready to be nasty, but he stopped when he saw Clark's face and the little spots of red on his cheeks and figured Clark had been aware the whole time that he'd been teasing Red, and had just reached his limit. Poor guy, he thought.

 

"I don't care, Clark. Whit's just bored, is all. Not everyone can watch re-runs of those stupid turtles endlessly like you and Pete,” Lex sighed.

 

"Hey!" Pete huffed, and Clark looked almost angry. Whit was pretty sure that it wasn't the turtle comment that made him angry.

"Anyway, Whi-iit,"Lex drawled sarcastically, "the book's called The Man Who Folded Himself. It's good. And you keep bothering me so I can't read.”

 

"See, I knew he was getting on your nerves," Clark snapped, glaring at Whit, who smirked back. Clark's little fit was almost funny—suddenly Whit hit the floor with a thump. Sam, Pete's older brother, grinned over the top of the couch. "Hey, faggots."

 

"Shut up—screw you—I'll tell mom!" They yelled all at once.

 

"See, you sing together like little boy band faggots. Are you watching that Ninja Mutant shit again?”

 

Pete looked scandalized. "I'm going to tell mom—”

 

"Well, tell her this too, than," Sam said, grabbed the remote control and changed the channel while giving Pete and Clark the finger. The boys protested angrily but Sam just laughed. He leaped over the top of the couch and landed on Clark and Pete. "Geez, this is a lumpy old couch," and jumped up and down a bit, until the boys were screaming for him to stop, stop and laughing so hard, they could barely breathe. Sam punched Clark lightly in the stomach, shoved him off onto Lex on the floor. He jumped up, reached down behind the couch and pulled out a basketball. "Anybody gonna play? Come on girls, get some fresh air.”

 

Whitney followed him out, winking over his shoulder at them. Clark lay on top of Lex, and grinned up at Pete. 

 

"Your brother's kind a pain in the ass, Pete," Lex wheezed out, and tried to push Clark off, who was not cooperating in the least. 

 

"Yeah," Pete grinned proudly. "He is, isn't he?"

 

**JULY**

They were on Lana's porch, drinking sodas and arguing over which Ranger had the coolest powers, and everyone agreeing that Lana shouldn't be allowed to join in because pink was not a power and liking the Pink Power Ranger because of that was just gross. It was pointed out to her that it was girly, and she responded well yes, she was a girl and Whitney said not when you're hanging with us, and it was decided that when she was with them, she was an honorary guy. The matter satisfied, they went back to arguing, this time, whether Warrior Angel was cooler than Captain Marvel, and Lex really got into that conversation, this he knew. Power Rangers he only saw at Clark or Pete's house, they had no TV at home besides the one in his parent's room, where he wasn't allowed. 

 

Lex was coming down very vocally on the side of Warrior Angel when suddenly everyone was quiet, looking over Lex's shoulder. He twisted on the porch swing to look behind him. Mr. Kent was standing there, a tense look on his face.

 

"Lex, I've come to take you home, son. Your mother…well. Come on, let's get in the truck, I'll talk to you on the way home.”

 

Everyone looked at Lex, and his stomach sank. His first impulse was to run, run like crazy, but it wouldn't do any good. This thing would still be waiting for him, no matter where he went. He looked at the concerned faces of his friends and wished he was alone. He'd never told any of his friends his mom was sick. It wasn't something a Luthor would do, was supposed to do. He got off the swing and trudged down the steps.

 

"Lex."

 

He turned to face Clark. "Do you want me to come with you?" Clark looked so worried, but Lex shook his head no. He couldn't deal with anyone but his own self at the moment. Clark nodded his head as if he'd read Lex's thoughts, and Lex was grateful. He looked up into Mr. Kent's too sympathetic eyes.  
"Let's go," he said.

 

It wasn't until he was sitting in the truck Lex realized he'd forgotten to add 'sir'.

~o0o~

No one else was in the fort that afternoon. As soon as he could get away, Lex had run here. Now he was curled in a corner of the fort, between the boxes of comics. He'd thought to come and read and forget the mess going on around him, but here he was crying, sobbing out loud, hiccupping, snot and tears running down his face. He hated himself for not having control but he'd held it in all day, was a man just like his dad told him to be. He maintained all the way to the fort, and then just broke. Crying hurt so much he felt like he was dying, he never cried, not since he was a baby. Crying was stupid and for sissies, but—

 

Lex could hardly breathe, was wiping his face on his sleeve and gasping for air when he heard a noise. 

 

"Lex? Are you okay—well, that was stupid, I'm sorry." Clark's head poked in the doorway and Lex was instantly angry and embarrassed.

 

"Go away!" His angry cry was muffled in the crook of his arm, and he tried to shrink even more. He heard Clark whisper okay, but he came in anyway, followed by Pete and Whitney. They all looked so sad Lex had to close his eyes.

 

"We—the guys…we heard. About your mom. We just wanted to say…" Pete came forward and knelt next to him; hit Lex lightly in the arm. "Sorry man, sorry—it really sucks. But, we're right here, okay?"

 

Lex nodded, didn't move his head from his arm. Whitney crouched down by him and didn't touch him, just sighed. "Hey, Lex. Man, this is so fucked up…"There was a little gasp and he looked at the other boys.

 

"What? It's true isn't it? It's fucked up. A kid shouldn't have something like this happen—"and then he did reach out and grab Lex in a rough hug. "Cry if you want to man—it's okay.”

 

And Lex burst out into tears again, clutched frantically at Whitney for a moment before letting go. Whitney hugged him back hard and stood, walked up to Clark and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You should stay with him a little while Clark, we're his buddies but you guys are best friends." 

 

Whit looked back over his shoulder at Lex, just looked for a bit, and Clark got a strange feeling, his stomach kind of –flipped and hurt for a second, and then it was gone and he nodded to Whitney. "Okay, Whit. Talk to you guys later." 

 

They trooped out and Clark was left alone with Lex. Lex had calmed himself a bit and leaned back against the wall. Clark dropped down in front of him, and leaned his elbows on his knees. "Okay, talk. Why didn't you tell us your mom was so sick? Why didn't you tell us she died? If my dad hadn't asked how you were, we wouldn't have known…that hurt, man. It's like you don't trust us—trust me."

 

"Clark, this is my deal, not yours. I don't _care_ about your feelings right now." Lex backed down when he caught sight of Clark's face. "Okay, sorry," he sniffed and wiped at his eyes. "I didn't say anything because it's weak to not carry your own trouble.”

 

Clark was confused. Didn't you go to your friends when things went wrong, and what could be worse than your mom dying? What kind of house did Lex live in, poor kid? Clark shifted and moved next to Lex and threw an arm around him. "Lex, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Did your dad tell you that? Well, he's kind of a butt hole isn't he?" Clark grinned when Lex let out a bark of surprised laughter, and felt even better when he felt Lex nod his head. He reached up with his other hand and ruffled Lex's hair, pulled at the long red strands a bit., and said quietly, "You never have to look too hard to find your friends, okay? You never have to do anything on your own as long as we're here. We're like the Musketeers, only more than three." 

 

Lex let his head fall back against Clark's arm and laughed. Clark felt warm all over; he made Lex feel a little better. That was cool. "Come on, let's go to my house, get something to eat. I don't know if this makes you feel any little bit better, but my mom? She really likes you, Lex. She'll take care of you. I'll ask her to.”

 

Lex nodded solemnly back at Clark. "Thanks Clark. I'm glad to hear that. I like you guys a lot too."

 

They made their way out of the fort and Lex turned to Clark, looking embarrassed. "You know, sometimes, I like to pretend that your dad is my dad, that I live with you guys and I'm your brother. And I'll punch you if you laugh.”

 

Clark looked solemn. "No, I don't think that's funny. I like it. You'd be a good brother. We'd like to have you with us, my parents really like you, Lex.”

 

"Yeah, well….”

 

Clark nodded. "Come on. Let's go home."

~o0o~

The funeral was even harder than Clark thought it was going to be. Lex stood like a soldier in his black suit, the sun shining off his freshly buzz cut red hair, and his eyes were puffy but dry. His dad was tall and handsome in a scary way, and never looked at him once or put his arm on his shoulder.

 

It didn't seem right to Clark that the sun should be shining, the trees should be so green, or that everyone was talking like it was a normal day. Lana kept looking at him from around her Aunt Nell's back, her pale face wet with tears. He didn't want to look at her, he didn't want to cry. If he started the other guys would and they had to be tough for Lex—Red. He wouldn't want them crying, he'd hate it. 

 

Clark stood between his mom and dad, holding his mom's hand close down at his side so no one could see and looked around at the others. Pete stood with his people and Whitney stood with his mother—his dad had to be at the store, he'd said.

 

When the end came, and Lex and his dad came up to toss a handful of dirt onto the coffin below, Clark shifted away from his parents and made his way to where the Luthors had been standing. He'd be there when Lex came back.

 

Clark closed his eyes and heard the dirt drop on the coffin lid, and a moment later felt someone next to him. He opened his eyes and saw Lex straight and stiff next to him, his head tilted far back and his eyes open wide—trying to keep tears from running down his face, Clark realized. He couldn't stop his hand from moving—his fingers touched Lex's, at the touch, his eyes closed, but he nodded. Clark knew he appreciated that he was there, didn't mind that he was just about holding his hand, somebody should. It wasn't right to ask a kid to be brave and tough at his mother's funeral. Lex's dad glanced at him and his look was disapproving, Clark glared back, fu—forget respect, the old man was a straight up— _asshole._

 

The adults were coming up to Mr. Luthor and murmuring whatever you were supposed to say at these times, and Clark led Lex away towards his friends. They stood in a little knot around him; everyone had a hand on him, as if they could lighten the pain for him.

 

"Is it true, Lex, are you leaving tomorrow?" Lana asked and a sob caught in her throat. Pete looked like he was about to explode and he glared at Mr. Luthor like his eyes were lasers, and he was waiting for him to burst into flame. 

 

"I can't believe your damn dad is sending you to boarding school. Stupid—"

 

Clark laid a hand on Pete's arm, "Shh, Pete. Keep it down. Don't get yourself in trouble." He turned to Lex and said "Where, Red? How far away is it?”

 

"England," Lex laughed with a hitch in his voice. "Don't think you guy's will be visiting anytime soon."

 

They huddled together, a knot of misery, until Lana pulled out a camera. Everyone groaned, but she stuck out her lip and said, "You idiots can act like you don't want your picture taken all you want but we'll be glad to have them later.”

 

Lex nodded. She was right; it would be good to have evidence that he'd once had friends like this.

 

Lana got them to group together, and _flash—_ Pete and Clark flanked Lex, each had an arm over Lex's shoulders, Whitney stood behind Lex with his hand on Clark's shoulder. They looked into the camera with ferocious glares as if challenging the universe to do worse; their black suits and ties, their white shirts glowing in the sun and looking so out of place on their young bodies. Then, Whitney took the camera, and Lana took Clark's place, leaned into Lex's side, and he put an arm around her and dropped his head on top of hers. Whitney frowned a little as he tried to focus the camera, and turned to see Clark staring at Lex.

 

"Red's a good guy, isn't he, Whit?"

 

_flash_ Whitney turned to face Clark completely, and said, "Yeah. He really is. I'm going to miss him a whole lot.”

 

Clark nodded solemnly. "Yeah. Me too." He stared at Lex who was smiling at something Lana said. "A whole lot. It's like I'm gonna lose…an arm, or something." Clark rubbed at the center of his chest.

 

"Yeah. I know." Whitney let his hand rest on Clark's back for a moment and rubbed lightly before moving off to join the friends.

 

The adults were drifting away, heading to their cars and the friends had to split up. Clark ran up to Lex, ignoring his father, grabbed his arm and said, "Meet me at the fort before you go!"

 

Lex nodded, glancing at his dad, who was scowling, nearly snarling at him. "Yes, okay." He looked at Clark, searching his eyes for some sign of what he wanted, but "I'll be there." he said.

 

Clark grinned at him and sprinted off to rejoin his mom and dad, who were getting into the car with Whitney and his mom. The boys slid into the back seat and Whitney hissed under his breath when Clark knocked against his side.

 

"Hurt yourself at football again? Maybe it's not your game, Whit." Clark caught the movement of Whitney's eyes toward his mom, and then Whit shrugged. "Yeah, well, it happens. Just suck it up right?"

 

Clark opened his mouth, hesitated and closed it again. "I guess you're right—just seems, you get hurt a lot is all." Whitney shrugged, irritated— and Clark knew that was all he was going to get from him on that. Subject closed.

~o0o~

Lex met Clark at the fort later on that evening. They were out of the suits and back in jeans and it felt almost normal–almost.

 

Clark seemed ill at ease, nervous and finally Lex asked him point blank "What the hell is up Clark, I mean, it's not a great day," he laughed bitterly, "but you're acting even weirder than usual.”

 

Clark swallowed and said, "Red. Remember when you said we should be brothers?”

 

"No, _you_ said we should be brothers.”

 

"No, it was you–shut up," Clark said when Lex looked like he was going to interrupt again. "Whatever! Anyway, I was watching this movie the other night, and these kids decided to become brothers, blood brothers, you know?”

 

Lex nodded, he was familiar with the concept. It happened a lot in the old books he read.

 

"Okay, so, that's what we're going to do, so we never forget and we'll always be friends—no matter where we are." Clark pulled a small red folding knife out of his pocket and held it out on his palm. "It's my dad's pocket knife, I thought—"

 

"I don't know Clark, that's kind of gross–and painful." Lex looked extremely doubtful, and Clark sneered a little. 

 

"Come on Red, don't tell me you're afraid of a little pain?" and Lex laughed again, that laugh that Clark knew meant more, the one that made Whit look at Lex whenever he laughed like that and share a twisted smile with him. 

 

"Okay, tough guy, let's do this!"

 

Clark took Lex's outstretched hand and sliced a shallow groove across his thumb and winced with Lex when blood bubbled up. He took the blade and sliced across his own thumb and…nothing. He looked puzzled and cut again, harder, and Lex looked up at him.

 

"Clark. It's not working. The blade is ...dull?" he looked down at his thumb thoughtfully, and Clark nearly sawed at his thumb until finally a thin stripe of red appeared, and they pressed their thumbs together, mixing and smearing the blood.

 

"Do we say anything?" Lex asked, his brow furrowed as he stared at his blood-smeared thumb.

 

"I don't know, how about, ‘we're brother's forever now'?”

 

Lex nodded "Sounds good to me…Clark, is it always that hard for you to bleed?”

 

"Yeah, when I was real young, like five or something, I'd skin my knee and bleed like crazy, but I haven't for a long time now. I used to think everyone was like that…now I know different. I still don't know why I don't bleed easy, or get sick...”

 

"That's pretty cool, Clark, I'd like never to get sick or stuff.”

 

They headed back to the Kent farm, neither of them speaking but once in a while one or the other would glance at their thumb and smile. They parted at the Kent driveway, shaking hands like grownups, until Clark grabbed Lex into a tight hug. He pressed his face into Lex's shoulder, and spoke, his voice muffled by the cotton. "Remember, brothers!"

 

Lex nodded yes and pulled away from Clark, but not before he scrubbed his hand over his hair. "Red—Lex, I—you take care of yourself—"and he ran up the drive.

~o0o~

Lex stood and tried to sort out the maze of feelings he was lost in. He had found a brother and lost him and there was something else wrapped up in it, a feeling that he'd lost something else too…he just didn't understand what.

 

After a horrible dinner with his dad, and negotiating with the housekeeper on what personal items he could pack—and that was nearly a battle to the death—he heard a knock at his window. Again, a knock and he went to the window, looked out and down at a hiss. 

 

Whitney stood on the lawn, waving something in his hand.

 

Lex waved back and made a shushing motion, and Whit nodded and gestured for Lex to come down. Lex held up five fingers and scooted back from the ledge. He knew everyone was asleep so he just tossed a jacket over his undershirt and ran lightly down the stairs to the back of the house and out the door.

 

Whitney was waiting and the thing in his hand turned out to be a folder of pictures. Lex took them and shuffled through them quickly, sorrow bubbling up again as he remembered the afternoon and how dead he'd felt. There were other pictures though, one of Pete and Sam together, a school picture of Lana, one of Whitney glaring into the lens…and Clark. A handful of pictures of Clark, at birthdays, picnics, building the fort, and one of him looking into the camera with a painfully sweet expression on his face.

 

Whitney watched him look the pictures over, and asked him gruffly, "Was I wrong?”

 

Lex looked up at him, and Whit asked again, "Was I wrong, Red. To bring those pictures of Clark?”

 

Lex shook his head no, and Whit smiled. "I kinda thought so—you're good at hiding things Lex. We both are.”

 

He moved over to Lex and leaned forward until they were only separated by a breath, and then he pressed his lips lightly to Lex's. They stood for a moment, lips pressed softly together, and Whit's hands went up to Lex's shoulders. Lex's heart skipped a beat, and then Whitney stepped back. "That's from Clark. I think if he was smarter he'd know he doesn't want to be your brother." Whit reached a hand behind Lex's neck and squeezed lightly. "I'm not going to act like we'll meet again, we probably won't. Thanks for being my friend Lex, thanks for helping.”

 

He pulled back from Lex, and Lex grabbed his hand. "I love you, Whit!”

 

He pulled free of Lex, leaned down and grabbed his bike. As he got on, he said, "Yeah? Maybe, Red, maybe..." Whit rode off, stopped half way down the drive, turned back and waved once and then rode on.

 

Lex stood in the drive a little while longer; he touched his lip, and then looked down at the pictures clutched against his chest. His life had changed for the worse when his mom died, and tomorrow his life was supposed to change again, and here in the dark, on his driveway, it changed in a way he could never have imagined.

~o0o~

**MAY 2000**

Clark watched Pete ride his bike up the drive like he was being chased by a monster. Or Fluffy, the neighbor's evil bastard of a poodle.

 

"Clark!" he was yelling even before he disengaged from his bike. Clark watched Pete with some amusement; whatever it was that had Pete flustered had to be good, for sure. Maybe Pete's quest to get to third base with a girl finally panned out, though Clark figured it was doubtful Pete had hit any base at all yet. 

 

"Red's back!" he yelled and Clark stopped in shock. _What?_ "What!" Clark shot to his feet. "He called you, you saw him?" He jumped off the porch and ran to Pete.

 

"No," Pete was shaking his head. "I heard my dad tell my mom that he was back." Pete scowled. "Back for a week.”

 

Clark shook his head. "I don't get it. He never wrote us, or called…he's here now and he still doesn't try to get in touch—" the boys looked at each other and both of them were angry, the initial excitement draining away in shared hurt.

 

Pete scuffed the gravel of the drive and turned to face away from Clark. "Yeah, well, screw him. So what he's back, right? He didn't care about us, why care about him?”

 

"Yeah, you're right, Pete…" Clark hesitated, and then asked him, "You want to round up Whit, see if he wants to ride bikes?"

 

Pete looked at him suspiciously. "Where to?" He had that look on his face, the stubborn pugnacious look, the one Clark called the Nose, and Whitney just thought was plain funny.

 

"Just around…do you think Lana knows?"

 

Pete shrugged his shoulders, and leaned his elbows on his handlebars. "Don't know." 

 

Lana had discovered in sixth grade that she was indeed a girl, and liked the things a girl liked and hanging out with the boys wasn't as appealing as it had been, or at least that particular group of guys. Lana had developed into one of the popular girls, though she never developed the mean streak that some of the girls seemed to have. She still spoke to them in the halls, called on the phone sometimes and Pete was still hopelessly infatuated with her, and it hurt his heart anew each day, watching her with her new crowd.

 

"Yeah, okay, let's go get Whit." Pete stopped and grinned at Clark, his mercurial mood changes in full swing. "I know a real good road to ride."

 

A few hours later, the boys were straddling their bikes across the road from the castle driveway. They all adopted the same stance, elbows on handles bars and knees spread and locked. Whitney looked contemplative. Of the three he was the only one who hadn't been angry that no word had ever come from Lex. He'd never expected any.

 

They lingered a while, discussing which TLC member was the hottest, and no one wanting to admit the reason they were idling there. 

 

Finally, Whitney sighed and leaned back on his bike, "Come on. This is stupid. We either go up to the door, or go the fuck home." He scuffed one sneaker against the ground and studied the others. He knew they were paralyzed with indecision. Okay, no problem. He'd taken worse hits than this. If he knocked on the door, and he wasn't welcome, it wasn't like the butler would beat him up. Maybe.

 

Whitney rose up, ready to push across the road, when the sound of crunching gravel drew their eyes to the drive opposite. A Mercedes was coming down the driveway; they came to the edge of the road, anticipation of the 'we might see Red' kind on Clark's face, uncertainty on Pete's…Whitney was Whitney and just waited impassively.

 

The car rolled along side of them and went past, but not before they all got a good look at Lex in the back seat, wonder and joy plain on his face and then the car pulled away, increased speed as it went up the road. The boys sat stunned for a while.

 

Pete was the first to respond. "Did you see him? I don't know about you guys, but I think he looked pretty damn glad to see us!”

 

Clark grinned and felt warm from head to toe. Red had looked surprised and pleased. He did want to see them, he thought, Clark could tell, that was Le—Red's happy face all right. "Yeah. Yeah, he did look glad, didn't he?”

 

Whitney smirked and rode a bit ahead of them, called back to them, "Come on, if we hurry, we can get back in time to play some games at Pete's house.”

 

"Hey! What makes you think my mom's gonna let us hang out at the house?" Pete looked a little worried and put upon, as he pedaled hard to catch up with Whitney.

 

Whitney laughed over his shoulder and yelled, "Come on Pete! We've got our secret weapon—your mom thinks the sun rises and sets in Clark's ass!" 

 

"Shut up! That's not true! And it's nasty!”

 

"Clark, it's so true! They sure don't like me!”

 

"That's because you're such a jerk, Whit," Pete yelled, "And wait for us, you jerk!”

~o0o~

Late that evening, Whitney pedaled back to the castle. His shoulders hurt and all along his right side, from his dad pushing him into the kitchen table. He pedaled furiously; he was angry, angry enough that it almost masked the pain.

 

By the time he made his way up the drive and around to the back of the house, he was panting for breath, but felt a little calmer. He picked up a handful of gravel from the decorative planters that lined the side of the back patio, stepped back and began tossing stones at the window he sincerely hoped was still Red's. 

 

The stones tapped against the window and in the dark silence seemed too loud to Whitney. The dark surrounded the little square of light cast from the window, and it pressed on him, trying to cover him in its black folds, and Whitney was startled to feel fear of it—the dark was usually his friend, his protector. 

 

Suddenly the window went up and something fluttered to the ground next to him, when he looked up again, the window was shut. He bent and picked up the thing, which turned out to be paper tied to an old Mutant Ninja Turtle figurine. Whitney relaxed, calmed by the sight of that turtle. Held it up to his eyes and snorted. Even now he could remember the horrible afternoon not long after Lex had left, the afternoon that Pete had a meltdown when he discovered Raphael was missing. And here the little bastard was, he thought, and Red had him all along. He laughed to himself as he opened up the note. 

 

_Go to the kitchen door._ Whitney shrugged and went past the main patio quickly, down the short series of steps that curved around to the smaller patio off the kitchen doors. He saw that the doors were slightly open, so he leaned his head in. There was a dim light on over the huge stove, just enough to make out obstacles in the kitchen. Lex was sitting at a butcher-block topped island, swinging his feet and rubbing his hand over the top of the counter. He hadn't noticed yet that Whitney was standing in the doorway, so Whit just stood quietly and took him in. Lex was taller now, and filled out a bit, not so scrawny, though he was still as pale as always, unless that was just the light—Lex looked up and his eyes got wide when he saw Whitney.

 

"Whit, damn—Whit, you scared me!" He jumped off the stool and ran at Whitney, threw his arms around him and squeezed, lifted him off the floor an inch or two.

 

"Woof! Jeez, Red, you really put on some muscle, boy!" He pounded Lex's back and they parted and grinned at each other, sizing each other up, cataloging changes and just enjoying being in the same place once again.

 

"So, you fucking asshole, no phones in England?" Whitney wandered over to the counter near the stove, picked through a bowl of fruit there and selected an apple. He turned back to Lex, and grinned at him before sinking his teeth into it with a crunch, and watched Lex watch him chew—Lex grinned back.

 

"Whit, you never change, no manners, no couth—perfect," Lex laughed softly as leaned back on the opposite counter. "You knew I wasn't going to keep in touch, I never thought my dad was going to bring me back here. But…he's buying that plant outside of town.…”

 

"Jeez, the shit factory? Yeah, that kind of suits him. So, he's moving here again to run it?" Whit gnawed on the apple, he'd worked it down to the core, and was looking at the rest of the fruit. Lex caught his hungry look and went to the massive fridge and poked around inside. He looked over his shoulder at Whit. "You want…roast beef? That's what we had tonight; you could have a sandwich—"

 

"What if your dad or the Cook comes in here, won't you get in trouble?" Whitney was so hungry, it'd been too late to bother the Kent's and no way could he go to Pete's house and ask for food—his mom would go ballistic, and it would just be a whole ball of crap he didn't want to deal with.

 

"Shit, Cook could sleep through a tornado, and Dad's not here…got a date, I guess." Lex shrugged and gave all his attention to making a sandwich for Whitney, carefully sawing at the roast, taking time to stack the slices evenly on fresh bread. Whit hopped up on the stool at the kitchen island and watched him work. Red was feeding him, he didn't even really ask, he just took it upon himself to feed him. Whit felt—great. Happy…for a moment he was completely happy.

 

Lex set the plate down in front of Whitney and sat across the kitchen island from him, watching him eat. He grimaced suddenly and Whit glanced down to where Lex was looking, at his arm, the bruises just visible under the edge of his t-shirt sleeve. He knew Lex was looking at the clear imprint of a hand there.

 

"So, I see your dad is still a jerk." Whit didn't even hesitate, kept on eating. "Um-hum," he said when he'd swallowed the bit he was chewing. "No dinner tonight. The dick wouldn't let me eat.”

 

Lex leaned his elbows on the counter and cradled his chin in his hands. "So, ever tell the guys about it?" At Whitney's negative headshake, Lex went on. "How is everyone? Are they okay?”

 

Whit worked away on his sandwich and grinned at Lex with teeth full of mashed sandwich. Lex stuck his tongue at him, and Whit swallowed and laughed. "First of all, Clark's fine and so freakin' stoked you're back, I thought he was gonna explode. Hell, he almost did when his dad wouldn't let him come back up here today. Oh, here, before I forget." Whit shoved a hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "This is his number," he said. "Call him. He's been waiting three years," and snorted at the look on Lex's face.

 

Lex stared at the paper and felt his eyes burn for a moment, than shoved it into the pocket of his sweatpants and continued, "How's Pete? Lana?"

 

Whitney shrugged and laughed, "Well, when you meet up with Pete again, don't mention you stole his turtle. It's been three years but I bet he'd still freak on you! Lana's fine, she's got her own thing these days. Popular girl now, y'know."

 

Lex's eyebrows rose, he never thought of Lana as being interested in that kind of stuff. 

 

Whitney reached across the counter and traced the line of Lex's hand. "It's good you're back, Red, everyone missed you. We're real glad you're home again.”

 

Lex moved his hand and smiled at Whitney. Whitney acted like he didn't notice Lex avoid his touch…it was cool. He perched on the edge of the stool kicking his feet back and forth and trying to figure out whether he should go and sleep in the Kent's barn—

 

"Whitney. You can't go home tonight, can you?"

 

Fuck. Red was always too quick for him. All he could do was grin at him and nod.

 

Lex looked annoyed. He knew it was something Whitney had done purposely—some strange act of defiance against his dad, acts that usually backfired.

"You never change, do you, you idiot. What the hell did you do now?" Lex leaned forward a bit, eyes locked on Whit's, ready to laugh or curse.

 

Whitney smirked, "I got caught at the Wal-Mart in a fitting room booth with my hands down Beth Johnson's pants—nah, you don't know her, she came after you left. She lets guys do pretty much anything." He laughed at Lex's appalled look. "Come on Red! If someone's gonna throw it at you, you're gonna catch it, right?" He cocked his head and studied Lex. "Are you a virgin, Red?”

 

"Not all of us feel like sharing every damn bit of our lives, Whit," Lex snapped, and Whitney grinned, held up his hands and nodded to Lex. Fine. Virgin it was.

 

They went upstairs to Lex's room. Lex told him he could sneak an army in past his dad and the man probably wouldn't notice, or care—something Whitney doubted, but he really didn't want to sleep in Clark's barn so he just followed Lex up the stairs.

 

"Damn. This is your room?" Whit looked around at the huge space. Lex had a queen-sized bed, and a couch, and bookcases from floor to ceiling, and his very own bathroom. Whit shook his head. Rich people. He walked over and looked into Lex's closet; it was the size of Whit's whole room at home. 

 

Lex tossed him a pair of sweat pants, and a towel. "Go, shower—you need it, and use the deodorant in there, too."

 

Whitney flipped him off as he passed him on the way to the bathroom. He stepped through the dor ans stopped in awe, floored by the luxury of the space. The shower was unbelievably huge—Whit messed about trying to figure out how the plumbing worked exactly, and finally got it to work. 

Standing under the warm rain of water, Whit was filled with gratitude to Lex for letting him in. It had been…just a really crappy couple of days. And here he was, not even talking to Lex for more than a few hours after not speaking for years, and Lex. Lex was taking care of him again. He felt his face flush, his eyes prickled for a moment before he cursed himself for acting like an idiot. That kind of stuff didn't get you through the day.

~o0o~

Clark wanted to see Lex. It was so unfair of his father not to let him go. He wondered if Whit was in the barn, he'd heard about what happened at the Wal-Mart. He sighed and folded his arms behind his head.

 

Did Whit really think that they didn't know what was going on, did he think Clark was so clueless that he missed the bruises and the fact that Whit showed up in their the barn from time to time? It was weird, as if something somewhere took a wrong turn. It wasn't like this when Whit was a little kid. He remembered Whit and his dad tossing footballs in the park—true, that hadn't happened since he was in fourth grade. But it was different then. Things changed and Whit got harder and harder and his dad didn't come around anymore, spent all his time in the store and you'd think Whit would have nicer stuff, that they'd have some money. It was like Whit was being raised by strangers who didn't care that much about him…Clark shifted onto this side and thought how grateful he was for his mom and dad. If he could have chosen parents, he would have chosen them. His dad—sure he could be annoying some time. Like tonight. But mostly, he was a good guy. 

 

Clark sat up. Which is why he was going to feel really bad, in a minute or two. Clark stood and pulled his jeans and sweatshirt on, found his sneaks under his bed, and tried not to think about his parents and how truly pissed off they'd be if they found out he went to Red's which was what he was going to do right now, he thought as he tied his laces.

 

He left the house quietly and walked swiftly out to the end of the drive. He turned into the direction of the castle, stopped and took a deep breath, a breath of anticipation, growing exhilaration….

Clark stared trotting, then running lightly, the wind just moving his hair, then running, faster—things beginning to blur, wind pulling at him, running faster, the wind building to a screech and clawing at his clothes and then—silence. Silence, icy and crystalline, everything around him floated past in slow motion. It wasn't as cool at night; he loved seeing the slow dance of everything around him when he ran super, super fast. He grinned to himself in his private slice of the world; he should be at Red's in minutes.

 

Clark slammed to a stop behind the castle, a little out of breath but euphoric and jittering with the thought of seeing Lex again. He ran up to the back of the house and looked for the window he knew was Lex's. There was a glow of light behind the curtains and he felt good—Red was still up. Perfect. He bent down to grab a few pieces of gravel lying in the grass and drew back his arm to toss a piece at the window when the curtain moved back and Whitney was at the window. 

 

Clark faltered, his arm dropping—what the heck was Whit doing there? 

 

He backed up out of the square of light on the lawn, into the shadows of the shrubs and felt crushed. He heard, saw Whit laugh and spit out of the window, and thought, _did Lex invite him; did Lex call Whit and not me, his best friend?_ For a moment life sucked so bad, and then rational thought hit Clark—of course Lex hadn't done that. Whit had probably done the same thing Clark did—couldn't wait so he snuck out to see Lex. More than likely Whit had no other place to go besides the barn, so he came here instead. Clark knew Red was a sucker for Whit…oh well. Let them catch up on stuff; Whit's having a bad week anyway. Maybe Red can help him out.

 

He decided he'd come back in the afternoon, or maybe right after he finished his chores. Good to know that Whit had another person to look out for him, too.

 

In typical Clark fashion, he forgave his friends for something they weren't even aware of, took his hurt and let it blow away as he raced back home.

~o0o~

"Whitney, is everything all right? You've been looking out there a while.”

 

"I thought I saw…nothing," Whit muttered. He shrugged, jumped onto the bed and threw himself flat on his back. He felt better than he'd felt all day. Full, clean and sleeping on a mattress instead of a horse blanket like he figured he'd be doing tonight. "So, Red…"Lex turned on his side to face him and shoved his hand under his head. He smiled, but looked so tired.

 

"Am I keeping you up?” Whit asked.

 

"No, it was just a crappy tiring day. I had to go to the city with my dad, and sit through some boring meetings with him. He wants me to know how a business works. God, he's such an ass.”

 

Whit noticed Lex had a faint English accent, kind of cute. 

 

"He's been keeping me busy; I think he's trying to keep me away from you guys—I don't know. He barely lets me out of his sight. It's driving me crazy."

 

Whit sighed, "It never gets better does it, Red—you and me, and the shit we have to deal with."

 

Lex's eyes drooped lower and lower as he replied. "Yep. We few, we proud, we screwed.”

 

Whit snorted, and Lex grinned briefly before his eyelids shut and his breathing slowed and Whit watched him drift into sleep and loved him very much, just for that moment. He slowly reached out his hand, smoothed his hair back from his forehead, and ran a finger softly, lightly over his lips. Lex slept on, but his lips quirked into a brief smile and he breathed a name before sinker deeper into sleep.

 

Whitney sighed and had to smile a little. Red was constant, that's for sure. Clark. Guess that wasn't going to change. He felt a stirring, a fluttering low in his belly and rolled away from Lex.

 

Not going to admit the thought of Red and Clark was kind of…hot. Whit's bruises reminded him that he hadn't had a decent rest since that stupid thing with that stupid girl, and he let himself relax completely. No one was going to drag him out of bed, and shout in his face, or throw him against a wall or….

 

Sleep reached up and dragged him out of the world for a little while.

~o0o~

Whitney was gone when Lex woke up; sweatpants he'd worn neatly folded on the end of the bed the only sign he'd been there. Lex smiled, and reached into his pocket. The note with Clark's number was creased and wrinkled from being in his pocket all night, and looking at it again, he was pretty sure that it was Whit's handwriting and not Clark's, but—he punched in the number and waited.

 

"Hey! Clark, it's…yeah, it's me. Would you like to come over later…yeah? Cool. They can come, of course, but I'd really like it if just you came first, we can, unh, catch up on stuff…great! See you in a little bit, then. Bye."

 

All right then, Lex told himself, first shower, then eat and bring out those comics…Clark will like those… he grinned to himself thinking of the excitement in Clark's voice. It made Lex feel good to be sure that after all this time, Clark was still his friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**JUNE**

Clark walked around to the back of the school, headed out to where the bleachers were. He hoped his dad was going to let him play football this year. It was the beginning of high school, the beginning of a whole new life. It'd be nice if, for once, he got to fit in. Not that he wasn't happy with his friends and all, they were the greatest. He'd just like to do what Lana had managed to do. Find a niche—not always be the odd man out. He was going to talk to his dad, after all, his dad had played football, why couldn't he? 

He looked out over the field, squinting his eyes a little against the bright sun glaring off the metal bleachers, and felt content, warm. Nothing like a bright sunny day to make him feel terrific—

He grinned to himself and started to walk back to the side of the school when he heard a low cry of pain and strained coughing. He frowned, he hadn't seen anyone else—maybe a grounds keeper, they worked straight through the year. Clark heard cursing, and a frantic voice…Whitney? He walked rapidly over to the bleachers, and saw figures in the shade under them. 

Two older boys, maybe seniors, had Whitney by the arms, another boy held him by the bunched up ball of fabric that was his t-shirt. Clark broke into a run when he saw the boy shake Whit hard and smack him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the boy yelled and smacked Whit again. 

"Hey!" Clark shouted and dashed under the bleachers. One of the guys holding Whitney's arm startled and quick as a snake Whit turned and kicked him in the crotch—the boy holding his other arm was surprised by the move, obviously thinking they had Whitney totally intimidated. Before he could tighten his grip Clark was there, bowling him over and knocking down the boy who had Whit's t-shirt in his fist. The shirt tore, and Whit was nearly pulled off his feet when the guy refused to let go. Whit quickly slipped out of the torn fragments and snarled at the boy, Clark could see Whit was planning to kick the crap out of the kid. He stopped him. "Whit! Don't! Let's just go, okay?" Clark yanked on his arm, and Whit let himself be lead away.

"I'll get you, you little cocksucker! Just wait! No one does that to my sister and gets away with it," the guy on the ground shouted.

 

Clark practically marched Whitney back around to the front of the school. Whitney laughed as Clark pulled him along , he sounded giddy with relief—Clark figured he must be glad _not_ to be having the crap kicked out of him. The jury was still out on that. Clark scowled down at Whit.

"Ok, Whit. What the hell did you do now? Those guys are seniors in high school, why would they want to beat up an eighth grader—or are they hazing early this year?" Clark folded his arms and glared, sincerely pissed off.

~o0o~

Whit looked up at Clark in reluctant awe, wondered how he managed to look even bigger and not very Clark-like when he did that arms folded thing. Still, it was Clark and Clark…"Why do you think it's my fault every time something happens? Trust me a little, Kent, would you…" 

Just like Whit thought he would, Clark softened and for a moment Whit thought he'd pulled it off, and then Clark snorted.

"Good try, Fordman. No dice. What did you do this time?"

Whit chuckled and spit. A glob of mucus and blood barely missed Clark's foot. He hopped back just in time and glared when Whit just grinned back. "Nothing, I didn't do anything. Well, not really," he amended at Clark's skeptical look. "I—he caught me and his sister making out, is all. That's it." 

Clark looked suspicious. "And for that, he beat you up, got two guys to hold you so he could smack you around? Whit, it looked to me like he planned on beating you…bad. I don't—" 

Whitney's reply was offhand. "Ah, really, it's nothing, no big deal. I might have lifted a little bag of dope off of him, but I figure he owed me that—oh, and I blew him a couple of times, and now he thinks he's got exclusive rights or something—"

Clark went all pale and stuttered, "What—what? What—?" 

Whit shrugged and Clark grabbed his arm and Whit winced under the grip. Clark was even stronger than he looked. Whit wondered when had he managed to get so strong, as he tried fruitlessly to get out of Clark's grasp.

"Whitney!" Clark was babbling with shock. "That's –that's dangerous, and _wrong!_ Why would you do that?" Clark was nearly vibrating with the intensity of his feeling, and Whitney couldn't help responding in the mocking way he always did to Clark's outrage—

"What, Kent, the dope or the bj's? Or both?"

"Both! Drugs! And _sex—_ with a—guy?" Clark then blushed so red that Whit got a little worried, but Clark just gulped and then hissed, "You're gay!" like he was afraid someone'd overhear, and then slapped a hand over his mouth before he recovered. "I— Whit, sorry, I—you know it doesn't make a difference to me, it really doesn't." 

Whit rolled his eyes. "Yeah, thanks for that Clark, I'm really worried about what you think of my sex life, and bi, by the way." 

Clark looked hurt and somewhat confused before it sunk in that Whit meant bi-sexual—a word that had obviously been just part of a boring test in boring health class for Clark, until just now. Clark hemmed and hawed and finally asked, "Were you safe, Whit? You have to be careful, if you're, you know, sexually active…." 

Whit grimaced, "Please. Sometimes talking to you is like talking to my mother, if my mom and me talked. And yes, I'm careful, most of the time anyway. It's no big deal."

Clark snapped, "You keep saying that, but it is a big deal. You could mess up your life! Stop that!" he shouted at Whit's bark of laughter "At least think of your friends!"

Clark's desperate anger sobered Whit. "I do, Clark, I do every day, that's why I'm still here. This stuff—I'm not kidding—it's not a big deal. It's not some shiny new thing like it would be for you, ok? Listen, can we talk about this later? Red and I are supposed to hit the movies tonight, I gottta get cleaned up a bit. Ok?"

Clark reluctantly pulled back from the subject, but asked Whit, "So, does Red know about…" he made a vague gesture with his hand and blushed, ended up brushing his hair off his forehead. Whitney smiled a little. Clark was so cute. "Yeah, Clark, he knows. I asked him not to talk about it." _With you_ went unspoken. "I gotta go, really. And don't worry, all right? I promise, I'll be fine."

~o0o~

Clark watched Whit walk away and sighed. He wasn't quite as convinced as Whit that everything was just fine, and that he could handle things. Plus Whit has to go and dump it all on Lex. Lex knew a lot of things he couldn't talk about and it…it wasn't fair to Lex. Did Whitney understand that? 

Clark wondered— did Whitney have to carry a bunch of secrets around for Red, the way Red carried secrets for him? Why wouldn't Lex come talk to him? Weren't they supposed to be best friends—or did Whit and Lex have more in common than Lex and him? A miserable little wave of sensation swept through him—he needed to talk to Red, let him know he could trust him as well as Whit. Blue-eyed, blonde-haired, lots of tight, tanned muscles Whit, a thought Clark ruthlessly repressed almost as quickly as it surfaced in his mind.

**JULY**

Lex had been disappointed to find out that the fort in the woods was no longer used, but he was getting used to the fortress, as they called the top floor of the barn on the Kent property. 

 

It was pretty cool, especially since a few weeks past, the Kents had let Clark have some old furniture, including a couch, which was a blessing for Whit, it gave him a more comfortable, safe place to sleep. Lex was pretty sure from watching the Kents' faces when they chatted with Whit that they knew he slept there a lot now. Clark knew the reason why. Lex had known that Clark would figure it out eventually, and Whitney was just finally going to have to talk to him.

 

It was a gray day, chilly for July and wet, the on and off rain pattering over the barn roof, the kind of day that was good for sitting around, reading comics, or the secret stash of soft-core porn magazines hidden under the pile of comics in the box. They were doing just that, sitting around the fortress, reading and killing time until Pete got back from some family function in Metropolis, when out of the blue, Clark began questioning Whitney about his dad. Tentative, gentle probing, but Whit was Whit and Lex froze, waiting for the boy to explode. Instead he blew his too-long bangs off his forehead and just sighed.

"Clark, you don't really want to know about this stuff—it's not something you'll ever have to deal with, okay? I know what I'm doing, and I know how to handle it. Besides, it's not like you can help anyway." Whit slumped a little lower down the side of the couch, and spread his legs out on the floor. He folded his arms over his chest and he looked so much like fifth grader Whitney that Lex's heart ached for him. 

Clark sat up on the rough floorboards and shook Whit's ankle. "Whitney, don't I know a lot already, don't you think I've got a lot figured out?" Lex's eyes shot towards Whitney. What? What did Clark know?

"See, Whit," Clark said, "that's why he can get away with it, you never say anything. You act like it's your fault, and it's not!"

"Fucking yeah, it's not my fault," Whit spat angrily. "He's a dick, that's the problem. He's a stupid motherfucker and I wish he were dead!" Whit was so angry that his face was red, and his eyes shimmered with tears—neither one of the boys were foolish enough to think they were tears of unhappiness or sorrow, they were tears of pure frustration, of wanting to kill so bad, and not being able to do a thing about it, of years of being beaten and bent into some twisted new form— Lex reached down from his seat on the couch and looped his arm around Whitney's head. Whitney leaned his forehead on Lex's arm and let one harsh sob escape before sitting up again and staring dry-eyed into something only he could see. He leaned away from Lex and pulled in his legs. Sitting cross-legged, his elbows planted on his knees, he began to talk.

"Everything was fine, you know, normal I guess, until fifth grade, and then things…changed. My dad…he drinks a lot. Mom too, I can't blame her though, it's kinda scary when you never know what's going to happen day by day. The worse he got, the more she tried to make things better, make him happy, and I just kind of dropped off the map. She's going nuts, spending all her time trying to keep _him_ from going nuts. That's Mom's thing, being a perfectly drunk perfect wife. I think…after a while she could only worry about herself. Maybe I was like some buffer, some free zone for her. Like throwing a Christian to the lions. " Whit barked out a laugh, startling the other two—

"Sometimes—sometimes I don't go home. I used to do it to see if they noticed, now I do it ‘cause I know they don't give a shit. Except when he's drunk and gets a hair up his butt, and comes looking for me. I try to stay hidden. It can be…pretty bad…when he finds me. Sometimes I wonder if he even sees me as his kid…" Whitney's voice trailed off softly and Lex took a big gulp of his soda, and Clark's green eyes were filled with pain, and his hands twisted together. "See? And now you're all upset. That's why I never said anything to you about this…."

"But that's why you talk to Red, because he really knows, doesn't he? It's something that you guys know, that none of us know what it's like, to be afraid like that." Clark stared into his lap as he spoke, as though he were talking to himself, and then focused on Lex. "You should have told me, Red. We're almost brothers. We're supposed to share," he looked sadly into Lex's eyes.

Lex said, "Clark, we cut our thumbs and bled on each other when we were kids," and a fleeting memory too dim to catch ran through his mind, something was off that day…"It doesn't really make us brothers—"

"Yes, yes it does, if you believe it does. Didn't you? I did." Clark was obviously hurt. There was that thing again, that weird Clark, ‘it's all about me, but it's about you too' thing. 

Lex looked at Whitney, and sighed. Whit let a ghost of a smile appear on his lips. 

"Clark," Lex tried again, "You don't know how important you are to me, okay? Sometimes, you're the only thing that makes me feel like I have a chance, like if Clark Kent thinks I'm worth it than I am worth it." 

Clark looked at Lex in puzzlement. "Worth what? What do you have to be worth it for?"

"Life, Clark. Living. Taking up space on the planet." 

Whiney snorted softly, nodded his head a bit, Clark looked angry and hurt, and Lex felt pulled between the two….

**August**

The boys were hanging out at Pete's, eating cereal out of the box and talking about their schedules for freshman year, which had come just that morning in the mail. Mrs. Ross herded them out of the kitchen and onto the porch, muttering darkly about the grocery bill and charging them for electricity and closed the door on them. Lex grinned at Pete. "You Mom so loves us."

"Uhm-hm," he replied, staring at his schedule, "Only family gets the electric speech…."

"Speaking of family, where's Sam?" Whitney asked.

"Oh, out with one of his bazillion girlfriends, the dog." Pete smiled in admiration. "Sam's gonna let me in on some secrets with the ladies, I'll be set for high school, yo."

Clark snickered and cut his eyes toward Lex.

"Yeah, Pete," Lex said. "Those ladies better watch out for Ross Two Point-Oh-oh."

Pete glared suspiciously at Lex and Clark, who looked back wide-eyed and full of innocence, an innocence slightly ruined by tight pressed lips and shaking shoulders. Pete's eyes narrowed. "Oh, screw you," he said. "Look, this high school stuff is more important any way. What's our plan?"

Whit looked up, confused. "Plan? What plan, for what?"

"For not getting hazed by the seniors! Don't you know anything? You must know what they do to freshmen!" Pete was getting a little loud, and the other's shushed him, "We don't want your Mom out here kicking our butts!"

Clark looked confident as he said, "No one's going to bother us, why should they? We don't do anything to stand out." 

"Speak for yourself." Whitney laughed. "Those seniors are probably worried about me coming in and ruining their game." Whit grinned, the picture of barely contained mischief and Lex grinned back at him while the others sighed. 

"Whit, try not to get yourself beat up on the first day of school okay," Pete groaned. Clark shook his head in agreement.

"Really Whit, try to show some tact, some—finesse, will you."

Whitney jumped up from the step and turned around to face Clark. "Ooo. Someone's been reading the word-a-day in the paper, hunh?" but smiled as he said it so Clark knew he was teasing. 

Clark grinned back. "Yeah, well, you know what I mean. Sometimes it's like you're on a mission—"

He was interrupted by the sound of wheels coming up the drive and Sam was there, getting out of a car. Alone, Whit was kind of glad to see.

"Hey girls," he called. "Come get this stuff for me." 

The boys scrambled off the steps to bring bags of groceries in the house, all trying to talk to Sam at one time, asking a dozen questions about high school: were they really in danger and was it true that the seniors were allowed by law to haze freshmen and were the girls cute and what about taking showers together, did they really have to do that, and everyone turned and looked at Clark, who blushed and said, "forget it," and walked into the kitchen briskly, followed by Pete and Lex, who were arguing about what was true and what was not , in regards to their coming high school career. 

Sam shrugged and grabbed up a ball from behind the kitchen door, turned to go back outside. Whit stilled on the steps, wondering if…Sam came to a stop, tilted a look at him.

"What's up, Wit-less," Sam said, and popped him on his forehead. Whit grimaced, rubbed his head and looked up at the older boy; saw the kindness in his eyes. 

"Nothing…" he replied. "Can I shoot some hoops with you?" 

"Sure, the girls'll be watching whatever little freaky cartoon show it is that they watch now, come on."

Sam walked out to the driveway; ball tucked under one arm and threw his other around Whitney's shoulders. 

"Hey, Whit, you really put some height on, hunh?" Whit turned his head to look at Sam and realized he didn't have to look up much at all, not nearly as much as he used to.

They played for a bit, but neither of them really had their hearts in it, and soon, Sam signaled to stop. They sat on the bench on the side of the garage, and Sam pulled his T-shirt off and wiped his face with it. Whitney felt little cool fingers run down his spine, he shivered slightly and looked away. "So. Whit." he heard the irritation or something in Sam's voice and bristled.

"What?"

"What the fuck are you planning to do with yourself man? I'm hearing stuff, and not liking it too much, y'know." Sam twisted on the bench to look directly at Whitney, muscles twisting and sliding under cocoa skin with ease and elegance. Whitney noted it with one part of his mind and thanked the powers that be that he still had some functioning brain. "What have you heard, Sam" he said going for calm, cool—he leaned back against the bench and tried hard to look relaxed and confident.

"Well, you stupid little fucker, what have I heard—oh, yeah, drugs—that's one of the things I've heard, and oh yeah, busting a nut anywhere, with anyone —Jesus, how do you keep this shit from my brother, your friends?" Sam was scowling now, and unlike Pete, on him it wasn't cute, it was scary. The sun glinted off of the gold studs in his earlobes and Whit's eyes kept going to them, just because they shone and really not because he couldn't meet Sam's eyes. 

"I'll beat the shit out of you if I find out you get Pete involved in this stuff," Sam growled. "And you need to keep away from them skanks, trust me, they're murder." Sam glanced over his shoulder. Whit figured he was making sure Miss Abigail couldn't hear him talk like that, especially not to one of them, because she'd gut Sam for sure—Sam blew out an exasperated breat and looked back at Whitney.

Whitney sat and let Sam's words fill his brain. Sam wasn't worried about _him,_ he didn't care about him one bit—it was only Pete he was concerned about and why not? Who the fuck was Whit to Sam? Just one of his kid brother's stupid friends, was all. Whitney tried to stand, but Sam grabbed his arm and yanked him down onto the bench so hard, he huffed. "Ouch, you shit—" 

Sam snarled at him, "Shut _up_ Whit, and listen to me. Oh, and I'll be beating the shit out of you for cursing me when I'm done. First of all, I get you've got problems; I get your dad's a motherfucker from hell, okay—but you killing yourself doesn't add up. You're only fourteen, and you're out here like an oldster. Trust me, this shit will fuck you up. I'm worried about you man." He reached out and grabbed Whit's neck, pulled him in close and leaned his forehead against Whitney's. "Look ass-hole. I love you—you're my brother, ok, just as much as Pete." Whit closed his eyes against traitor tears and nodded.

"You are my brother, my ugly little pale-ass, blonde haired, blue-eyed brother, all right?" 

Whit nodded again and laughed, a little shaky but Sam grinned. "All right." He let Whit go and shook his shoulder, said, "So, you're going to have to stop trying to kill yourself okay? Because my brothers don't hurt each other that way. They think about how their actions affect the ones they love, that's how we do in the Ross family, you hear?"

Whitney sat back when Sam released him and promised him silently with every bit of his heart in it, that Sam would never ever hear of him doing anything wrong again, he promised himself that nothing he did would ever effect Pete. He'd try not to kill himself, he'd buy condoms, and he'd give up…well, _some_ stuff for Sam.

~o0o~

**Chapter Three**  
 **AUGUST 2001**  
Freshman year started out a lot easier than the friends thought it was going to, and Lana found her way back to them— she was back to hanging out with them at lunchtime and after school. Whitney joined the football team in what Lex thought was maybe a last ditch effort to get his dad's respect. Pete joined with him because he thought it was a great way to meet girls. As far as Lex could tell, it was working; Pete was always talking or walking with a group of girls. Girls who burst into giggles whenever they saw Pete, and came scurrying over to him and Pete would grin and act like it was no big deal.

 

Lex liked it, he liked seeing Pete happy. As for Clark, he still stood somewhat on the outside…still watching more than he participated. He wasn't allowed to join the team, which hurt him—he thought it was because his dad needed him on the farm, that they were too poor to hire help. Sometimes the resentment showed through even though Clark struggled really hard to be understanding. Lex wished he could do something to help him.

 

**SEPTEMBER**

One month after school started, Lex's father called him into his study and explained that he felt Smallville was not capable of meeting Lex's needs, that Lex required a broader education, one less insular. In order to provide Lex with the best education, one befitting a Luthor, he planned to enroll Lex in school overseas again. In England, to be precise. Lex would be leaving before the end of the school year.

He left his father's office in a daze—how could he _do_ this to him? He'd begged and begged his father for three years to let him return to Smallville and his friends. Lionel knew how much this place meant to him—and that probably was why his dad was sending him away. Shit, Lex fumed, it was _exactly_ why his dad was sending him away.

Lex left as soon as he could, he had to get out, find Clark—maybe he'd feel better after talking to him. At least he'd feel better after looking at Clark. Lex let the thought out, let it run free a bit and enjoyed it. He usually ruthlessly repressed _those_ types of thoughts. No matter what Whit tried to tell him, he didn't know Clark as well as he thought. Clark had no interest in Lex that way. If the amount of time Clark spent whining—well, asking, for advice about Lana and how to get her to notice him was any indication, then Clark was a raging if rather inept heterosexual.

Lex gazed at Clark sometimes and wondered: what the hell was wrong with Smallville? How could they look at Clark and not want him as much as Lex did? How could they not want to touch all that perfect skin or tangle fingers in that thick black hair? And God, why didn't he just clutch a hankie and burst into tears, for fuck's sake? He quickly looked about to see if anyone was around to see the pathetic loony blushing and muttering to himself.

Walking a little farther along the street, he found himself in front of the Beanery doors, and went in, hoping the guys might be inside and they were. Lex hesitated, stood outside and watched them. They looked happy enough, would they care if he weren't there? What did he really bring to them anyway?

He sighed and as though they heard him, Whitney and Clark looked up at the same time, stared at him, and for a moment their expressions were identical. It made Lex's heart skip. 

They looked…happy, really happy to see him. Then Whit's expression turned sardonic. He glanced at Clark and then back at Lex. He smirked, the usual Whit-take. 

That caused Clark to blush a bit, his usual reaction to everything, and glanced down and back up before smiling like he smiled at everyone. Nothing special, nothing different. 

Lex sighed again and came to sit down with them. 

Pete grinned and slapped his back. "Hey! How's it going? Why haven't you been around lately?"

Oh? And why haven't you called? Lex wanted to ask. Instead, he said: "Oh, kind of busy…I—shit." He leaned his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands. "It's fucked up, all fucked up is what it is." 

Pete's expression immediately changed, genuine concern in his face. He gripped the shoulder that he'd slapped. "What's going on Lex—can I help?"

Lex felt warmed by that and a little guilty about his uncharitable thoughts. That's what he was forgetting, that no matter what happened, what changed, they were still the Musketeers. 

Clark reached across the table. "What's going on? Tell us. It's your dad isn't it? What did he do?" 

Whitney frowned and leaned forward, waiting for Lex to talk. "Well. My dad— "

"Also known as Satan," Pete interrupted by reflex. He ducked his head down for a second and looked up again at Lex, a little embarrassed. 

Lex let out a laugh, taken by surprise. "Who calls him Satan?" he asked, and snickered.

"Sam calls him that, when we talk about you. Yeah, sure we talk about you, all of you guys," Pete said, looking relieved when Lex didn't mind him joking around while he was obviously upset. "He likes you guys. Hell, he adopted Whitney. His ugly brother, he calls him." 

Whit looked enormously pleased but tried to hide it. 

Pete looked at him. "You know what he calls your dad?"

"Yeah, The Motherfucker From Hell." Whitney let the grin take over and everyone chuckled. 

Lex took notice of the fact that Lana looked at Whit with stars in her eyes. Jesus, he thought, he had always figured that was a stupid cliché. He quickly shot a glance at Clark and was relieved that he was paying no attention to Lana. God knew that was rare. Instead, Clark was staring at him, not laughing with the rest, looking crunched up with worry. 

"My dad is sending me back to England to go to school." Lex said and It was as though he'd dropped a bomb into the middle of the table. All conversation stopped, and he heard Clark gasp. 

"What the fuck!" Pete yelped, and yelped again when Clark whacked his shoulder. "Ow, you don't hit Lex when he curses!"

"That's different." Clark said. "Lex! How the heck can he do that? Why the heck would he do that to you? The school year's started already! It's not fair!" Everyone turned to look at Clark, and suddenly he seemed to find his coffee very fascinating. He swirled the cup around and brought it to his mouth, staring at everyone over the rim. When they showed no signs of ignoring him anytime soon, he set the cup down. He was bright red when he muttered, "I'm sayin'…."

But everyone's attention had turned to Lex again. "Yeah, well, he's doing it, and as soon as he makes all the arrangements, I'm going. He doesn't care about my feelings, all he wants is the perfect little heir—I'm like a fucking show dog!"

At Lex once again cursing, Pete cut bitter eyes towards Clark, folded his arms over his chest and frowned at Clark and Lex both.   
Lana got up and moved to the empty chair next to Lex and smoothed her hands over his hair, she eased his head to her shoulder. "Oh, Lex," she sighed. "That sucks so much! I know how badly you must feel." 

Lex relaxed against her, she smelt good, and she was soft and warm. If he was into girls even the slightest, Lana would be the one. He remembered then who was ‘into' her, and pulled away, looking at Clark. But Clark only looked back at them with his eyes warm and proud. Lex decided that it must be Lana Clark was looking at. 

Whitney got up. As he walked past Lex, he stopped and leaned over, speaking into his ear, "I'll catch up with you later—we can talk." He straightened and smacked Lex's shoulder before flipping them a half wave and sauntering off. 

Clark watched Whitney go. Lex wondered about the deep frown on Clark's face.

**OCTOBER**

Lana stood frozen in shock in the hallway and let the crowd part around her, staring at the piece of paper in her hands. A note.

From Clark. 

 

A note that made it clear Clark liked her, and liked her a lot. What was she supposed to do about that? Out of all the guys, Clark was the one she most saw as a brother—the only one she couldn't really think of in any other way. Or could she?

Pete was coming toward her, big smile on his square sweet face. She smiled warmly at him. She did like Pete, he was so sweet, but Whitney…Whit was the one. There was something about him, something that called out to her.

Before she could stop him, Pete had playfully grabbed the note from her hand. "Hey, Lana, what's up," he said, eyes drifting over the paper before getting ready to hand it back. Suddenly his eyes jerked back to it. Clearly he recognized Clark's handwriting. He looked at Lana, his brown eyes full of hurt. She opened her mouth once, twice, but the words stuck in her throat. 

She knew she didn't like Clark like that, but would it hurt anyone if she let Pete think otherwise? It would give her an out. She wouldn't have to turn Pete down anymore while she waited for Whit to notice she wasn't a guy and that she liked him a lot, that she'd be good for him. "Pete, I—"

"Hey, don't worry Lana; I know that you don't think of me like that. I've known you for a million years and I know the deal. I keep hoping—" Lana put her hand on Pete's arm and he smiled down at her elegant little fingers clutching at him. "But it's okay," he continued. "The only thing is, how are you going to let Clark know it's Whitney you want?"

Lana was shocked. "You know?" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stared at the ground, blushing slightly. "Who else, no—don't tell me, everyone knows, right?" She looked up at Pete with a strained smile. 

He replied with a sigh, "Well, everyone but Clark, I guess. Red's been trying to tell him, but you know him, he only hears what he wants to hear sometimes. I've never seen anyone as stubborn as Clark—yeesh." 

Lana chuckled. She had to agree. Clark's show of stubbornness wasn't frequent, but the occasions that streak manifested were … legendary to say the least. She and Pete grinned at each other and the tension ebbed—they were friends first, no matter what. 

"Look, I'll tell Whit to take you to the dance this Friday, okay? I'm going, Clark and Lex are going—I set them up with some friends of mine…shut up," he said to Lana's raised eyebrow. He crooked his arm towards her and she took it. They walked off to lunch, Lana holding onto Pete's extended arm. "Don't ever forget, the Mouseketeers look out for each other."

She grinned. "That's Musketeers, Pete." 

"Did I say shut up before? I'm kinda sure I did— ow. Your elbows are sharp, do you know that?"

~o0o~

Friday night was an exercise in frustration and sadness for Clark. He was moping around, moaning and groaning over Lana, driving his folks crazy, his friends, hell—he was driving himself crazy.

She was perfect, a shining example of what women should be—and he did not have her on a pedestal like Red kept saying. She was too a real girl, darn it, and very approachable, or she would be if she wasn't all tied up in Whitney, that is. Now here he was at the school dance from hell, on one side a real pissed off friend of Pete's glaring at him—he felt bad ignoring her but she was just too boring—and a real pissed off Lana on the other side, cause Whit was being a jerk, hanging with the jocks and with the loser druggies. 

Clark got up and sat next to Lana. "I'm sorry Whit's being kind of an a-hole, Lana."

She looked down her nose at him. "Clark. There is no way that you should apologize for Whitney at all. Whitney is being an idiot all on his own." 

He looked back at her, and searched for something to say, and wished he were as smart about this stuff as Pete. Pete had a way of getting to the heart of a matter, not full of psychological stuff like Le—Red, just—truth. What was right. What was real.

Clark looked over to where Whit was laughing with some guys and Lex was standing next to him—stone-faced and definitely not happy, which meant that Whit was planning to do something stupid. Clark looked over at Lana, she looked really sad, and when she turned her eyes to Clark, he could see tears in her eyes.

That was it! He was going to have to talk to Whit—he looked around—darn. Well, as soon as he could find him then.

"Lana—I—I'll be right back," He said, smiling a little weakly at Lana. 

She grimaced and stood. "Clark, don't worry about it. I'm going to go," she said.

Clark touched her shoulder. "Lana, you deserve to be treated better. You need someone who gets that. Someone who puts you first." He looked down on the top of her head and got the strangest feeling …. 

He wasn't that person. He felt really bad for her, and angry with Whit for being an insensitive jerk, but he wasn't angry that Whit was with Lana and that surprised and even confused him a little. He had no desire to jump in for himself and what the hell was wrong with him?

All summer he'd dreamt of her, practically stalked her, and now was the perfect moment, his chance to get in good with her and he hesitated. Maybe what Red kept saying was right, maybe it did have more to do with worshipping an ideal and less with wanting the real girl…suddenly she was just Lana, his good friend, not the unattainable object of his desire.

What happened to change his feeling about her? He sighed to himself. God, how could people confuse themselves so? 

At least Red seemed to understand him.

Clark walked off in search of Whitney, leaving Lana sitting in a miserable little heap all alone. 

He ran into Pete, who was having an animated conversation with one of the guys from the team, and they both yelled out to Clark. Clark looked at Pete, back at Lana, then back at Pete. There it was; it hit him like a bolt of lightning. He grabbed Pete's arm. "Lana's all alone, Whit ditched her." 

Pete was instantly furious on Lana's behalf. "That asshole! Wait until I get hold of him—I ought to call Sam and—" He blew out a puff of air, and forced calm on himself. "Look, Clark, go sit with her why don't you? She needs a friend—" 

"Yeah, " Clark cut in, "She does. Someone who cares about her more than anything else in the world. Pete. It's time for you to make her understand, y'know?" 

Pete looked up searching Clark's eyes, trying to get Clark's meaning—looking hopeful and yet still concerned about Clark's feelings too.

"Pete. You've liked Lana since forever; you'll come up with the words to tell her… I think you guys belong together… She just doesn't know it yet."

Pete blushed, his cheeks flushing, and Clark grinned. Pete whirled around to face the gym doors, Lana was looking at them and she smiled when she caught Pete staring at her. She ducked her head down a fraction, but she just kept … smiling. 

 

Clark felt pretty good, and a little sad, too, but it was a good kind of sad. It was the right thing to do. Pete needed Lana and even if she didn't know it, she really needed Pete. She was pretty, sweet and very kind, a perfect girl—just not his perfect girl. All he could think of when she sat and cried over Whitney was how Pete would have handled it, and what he'd say to make her feel better and it didn't take a genius to figure out Pete was way better for her than he was … he didn't think he could ever feel the same way, to want to give everything of yourself to one person. He mulled the thought over in his mind a bit and then headed down the hall. Red had looked pretty upset with Whit. He'd better find him and then they could figure out what to do with Whit. He froze—shit. Red was leaving. He was leaving again. Clark had been pushing the thought into the back of his mind, but it kept creeping out and kicking him in the gut. It was even harder somehow now that they were older, they had to act like it was something they could deal with easily, but crap! He really didn't want Red to go. Who was going to help him keep Whit from killing himself, him and his stupid stunts? At least he'd managed to talk his dad into letting him finish out the school year—which just meant he'd spend the rest of this year wondering how he was going to handle next year without his best friend…damn.

He looked up and down the halls, but still couldn't find Whit or Lex, and no one had seen either of them for a while. Some kids thought they might have gone out to the woods with some juniors, there was supposed to be a party out there. Rumor was that someone got a keg. Oh great, Clark thought. That meant that Whit was going to be staying in the barn again tonight. 

He sighed and went into the restroom. He walked over to the sinks and checked himself out in the mirror. Sometimes he felt like he had ‘sucker' written on his forehead. Here he was alone at the dance, hooking up one of his best friends with another one, a girl that he'd liked. He stared at himself, trying to see what it was that people saw when they looked at him. What was in his face that made people treat him like an idiot? Slowly, he began to be aware of a myriad of sounds. His body heard it before his brain made any kind of connection, a little gasp, a groan. A bump against the stall wall. Geez. Eew, someone was getting busy in the stall. Another groan and gasp, a smack, like someone hit the wall of the stall and a curse: 

"Fuck, my elbow." Clark was shocked. That voice—that was Whit! Whit had a girl in the boy's bathroom— _idiot._ It was like he trying to get expelled, for crying out loud. Clark was just about to knock on the stall and let Whit have it when he heard another voice….

"Shut up, you big girl—shit, stand still, you're pushing me across the floor." 

Clark froze, and then, Whit's voice curled into his ear like a snake: " Shhh. Quiet!—fuck! Oh, god, that's good!" 

A _boy,_ not a girl…the voice was low and rough, and sent shivers down Clarks back. A vision of what was going on in the stall flashed through him like flames; his face and ears were on fire. The other voice cursed again and then the sounds got breathier, kind of wet, and Clark tried to leave fast and above all, silently. Sweat was running down his face and rolling down his back, he felt like he had a fever and his eyes were hot and scratchy. He rubbed them, and bit his lip hard when a low moan echoed against the tiles. The sudden pain in his lip helped break the spell, and his feet could move again. 

Just as his hand touched the restroom door handle, he heard Whitney groan like he was dying, and it made Clark groan inside.

"Wade! Oh, fuck, fuck…" 

Clark escaped and sped out to the lawn of the school heedless of someone seeing him. He leaned up against a post and gasped, trying to regulate his breath. He felt too hot, and his dick ached and he needed to get home. He needed to talk to Red. But when he thought of Red, he just felt even more miserable and upset, and he pushed all thought out of his mind. 

Forget the dance, forget Pete's friend, forget everybody. He was going to go home, have cookies, watch TV and go to bed and _not_ think. He was going to not think about anything. At all. And he was not going to think about Whit most of all.

 

**MAY**

Clark, Lex and Whitney were pushing through the underbrush, exhausted from walking ‘just a bit further' as Whitney kept insisting for what seemed like miles to Lex. At least this deep in the woods, it felt cooler by far than it had on the road. Sometimes Lex thought the heat was punishment designed by some evil cosmic deity just to torture him—some disembodied voice somewhere in the cosmos bellowing, "Melt Alexander Luthor's ass, it hath offended me!" He was just getting to the point where he was about to give Whitney his own taste of cosmic retribution, when Whitney finally stopped and in an entirely too chipper voice claimed that they'd reached the place he was looking for.

Lex groaned: "Thank god. Whit, you idiot, I was about to kill you." He dropped down to the ground next to Clark and looked around. "We came all this distance through the woods to what, look at more woods?" And then he whined, dropping his head against Clark's thigh. "Clark, kill him for me please."

"Har-de-har," Whit sneered at Lex. He searched for a gap in the weeds and vines that covered the tumbled down structure Lex chose to ignore. 

Clark snorted, amused when Lex began to make dirge-like noises to express his boredom. The building looked completely overgrown, but the weeds and vines had been carefully trimmed around one part and a faint trail of cigarette butts and cans was evident. Lex could see traces of old fires. 

"Here's the doorway, you big fuckin' babies," Whitney crowed. "Come take a look."

~o0o~

Clark and Lex began to move forward. Suddenly, Clark felt a wave of illness roll over him. He couldn't remember ever feeling like this before. His belly rumbled unpleasantly, his knees went weak and his mouth watered like it was getting ready for a backward journey of the food he'd eaten earlier. Breathing hurt, his head hurt, there were flashes of light at the edges of his eyes, strobbing in time to what felt like his brain slamming against the sides of his skull. Clark gasped aloud at the new pain and Lex shot to his feet.

"Clark, Clark, holy shit, you look—sit down, come on." Lex grabbed his arm and the touch hurt, hurt so bad that Clark staggered away from him, and fell back against a fallen tree. Suddenly, he felt better. His vision cleared and the pounding pain in his head eased, enough that he was able to draw a shaky breath. Lex's worry eased a bit when he saw color returning to Clark' face. 

"Fuck, Clark. You scared the hell out of me." Lex was kneeling in front of him, a hand on his thigh. 

Whit was hanging over his shoulder, looking a little scared. "Are you sure you're okay, Kent? You really looked like shit… we can go back if you want.."

"No, no. I'm okay— I'm okay now, but if you don't mind, I'm just gonna sit here for a bit. Go ahead. I'm okay. Really." 

The two reluctantly left Clark where he was, after he swore that he was fine. He watched them leave and gave in to the worry that crowded against the edge of his mind. What the hell was that? He was never sick, never. His mom had told him about childhood illness, fever or upset stomach, or cuts and bruises and it was always like hearing stories about a stranger, nothing to do with him, but this pain, this horrible feeling—he sat still with his hands cradling his belly and watched the place where his friends had vanished to.

~o0o~

Lex and Whitney walked through the narrow entranceway and stepped out into a space lit by the absence of most of the roofing.

It had been a factory once. There were rusted out carcasses of machinery and piles of rotting material in the corners. Someone had broken open barrels of some awful smelling viscous stuff, it was everywhere, and pieces of what looked like furniture were scattered about. Away from the mess, in the opposite corner, there was a pile of cushions and what looked like a blanket, as well as condom wrappers and empty bottles.

Lex looked at Whit and snorted. "Well. I guess I know how it is you know about this place." 

Whitney flipped him off casually as he kicked the cushions and blanket apart. "I think I lost my house key in here yesterday. I can't ask Asshole for a new key. I'll be back; I'm going to look up in the loft." 

Lex eyed the metal staircase and loft area suspiciously. "Do you think that's safe? It doesn't' look safe to me, Whit," he said. A feeling of dark foreboding squeezed his gut and he did not want to be there. It wasn't cool, it was damn scary and he wanted out. He told Whit as much, but Whitney was in one of his stubborn moods and insisted he needed to find his key.

"Fine—you look for the damn key, I'm going out to check on Clark," Lex said, feeling apprehensive. 

Whit nodded and sprinted for the stairs. "I won't be long, ok? Tell him it won't be a minute!"

Lex headed back for the opening, more and more anxious to get out of the gloomy ruin, and stopped—he'd heard voices—and an angry group of boys was in front of him

"Hey! What the fuck are you doing in here?" one of the boys yelled. Lex backed up looking for a way out that didn't require going through the kids glaring at him. 

"Nothing," he said. "I'm leaving." 

And one of the boys came flying at him, knocking him into a little heap of green stones that seemed to almost glow in the dim light. Another boy flung his cigarette into the corner after Lex and was getting ready to whale on him too when a soft rushing sound made the boy stop and look slightly past Lex. His eyes widened. "Oh shit!" he cursed, backing away. 

The mattress and the rags had caught—they smoldered, and that quickly, were in flames. One of the boys yelled something about ‘the gas' and bolted, the others pelting after him. Lex had just enough time to think, 'What gas?'—and his world exploded.

~o0o~

Whitney heard shouting and growled, "Oh shit. Those jerks are back." The guys who planned to burn down the school but seemed to spend most of the time huffing all their flammable substances. 'Jerks. Some one's going to end up dead in here,' he thought to himself. He debated going back downstairs, Red could handle himself, but still. The shouting escalated. Mind made up, Whit turned towards the stairs. He smelled smoke, heard yelling and screaming and broke into a run—he could see flames on the floor below as he skidded towards the steps. He saw Lex, surrounded by flame and Whit realized the screams he'd head had been Lex's. 

Whitney bounded down the steps, shouting for Clark.

~o0o~

Clark heard someone shouting. He opened his eyes and saw a couple of kids sprinting in the opposite direction. He leaped to his feet and ran towards the building, every step driving glass into his bones and into his head, but he kept going. He dragged himself into the doorway, unable to go any further. It was as if there was an invisible fence, a horribly painful barrier keeping him back. Whitney looked up and yelled, "Thank god, Clark! Help me!" He was trying to roll Lex up in the rags of a blanket, trying to drag Lex out and avoid the fire. He looked panicked and terrified, ready to cry. And Lex was clutching his face, he was on fire—

Clark stood shocked, frozen in horror. Whitney screamed and screamed at him, yanking Lex towards the door, closer, closer. He could hear Lex moaning now, and see that he was covered in something—soot and dirt and some green powdery stuff and Clark was going to vomit.

"Help me! Help me, you fucking coward!" Whit was screaming, but he was close now and Clark reached out to grab Lex and—

"I can't! I can't!" Clark couldn't touch him, and the fire was moving closer and he could see Whit's eyes cutting into him. They were full of contempt. 

"Clark, help me," Lex moaned. Clark's mouth dropped open in horror, he watched as Lex's skin seemed to lift up from his arms, his hands...oh God, Lex looked like he'd been boiled and his hair… _the smell…._

And then Whit was through the door with Lex and Lex was so hurt and—and—Clark staggered away from them, retched and retched violently until his head spun and he gasped for breath while Whit pulled Lex farther away from the building. Whit looked at him from across the small clearing and growled, "Get help. Do something useful. I'll stay here with Red." 

Clark spun around and ran, ran faster than he ever had before.

~o0o~

Lex spent the next several weeks in the hospital. It was beyond painful for him in the beginning. They had to work him over to get the rock and dirt out of his skin. He had second-degree burns on his arms and hands, his legs. Though Whitney's quick reaction had spared Lex worse burns, from the expression on the faces of the people who came to visit him, it must have looked horrifying. 

It was every single bit as excruciating as it looked.

For reasons his doctors couldn't explain, he had lost his body hair. What wasn't burned away in the fire shed afterwards. All of it, from every part of his body. The horror on Whit's face when he'd tried to smooth Lex's hair and ended up with handfuls of it was burned deep into Lex's brain. It had taken everything in Lex not to cry, and he'd almost lost it when Whit broke down.

His doctors had tried to prepare him for a long painful recovery; but to their amazement he began to heal right away, much, much faster than normal. Miraculous, his doctors and the staff said out loud, Unnatural, they said amongst themselves.

The nightmares went on and on. He kept seeing the hospital hallways flash by with him on his back, awake and aware and screaming in pain as they rushed him into the emergency room. He could see the Kent's faces hanging over him, white and sick. And Clark, who wouldn't help him, crying and crying. The traitor. 

His dad had brought it all together in a symphony of dreadfulness. He'd come flying into the hospital barking orders and belittling everyone— the staff, Lex's surgeons, tried to take control over everyone and everything, making Lex wish sincerely for death. The topper was Lionel ordering the Smallville doctors to keep away from him and installing his own staff. And didn't that make it pleasant for him when the Smallville nurses looked after him. That they didn't permanently scar or injure him was, Lex was sure, an oversight on their part. 

He lived for the moments when Whitney or Pete or Lana came to visit. Sam even came home from school for a few days and spent most of his time there with him, reading to him and just talking. Sam was so smart, no wonder Whit thought the sun rose and set on his ass. 

It was great when the Kents came to visit, too, but Clark—he didn't want Clark in his room anymore. He couldn't look at his lying face anymore—listen to his self-serving lies...Clark was going to let him die in that fire…Clark was such a coward. Whit had been ready to die for him and Clark just _stood_ there and said right out loud that he wasn't going to help. Lex's eyes burned with the memory and he pressed his fingers hard against closed lids. _Bastard._ He'd said no.

~o0o~

Pete came over to Clark's one evening after visiting Lex at the hospital. It was after dinner and the Kents were still at the kitchen table chatting and drinking coffee and Clark was washing up the dinner dishes. He saw Pete coming into the back yard through the kitchen window, and called out for him to come in.

"Pete," Martha smiled and invited him to sit and have a piece of cake. She exchanged bemused glances with Jonathan when Pete turned down cake with a preoccupied, "No, thank you, Miss Martha." He glanced around uncertainly and asked, "Umm—can Clark come outside with me real quick? I need to talk to him."

At Jonathan's nod, the boys stepped out into the back yard. Pete stood silent for a long while and stared up at the night sky. Clark followed his eyes up and automatically began to pick out constellations from among the pinpoints of light in the darkness. 

"Well," Pete started, jolting Clark out of his reverie. "Well," he began again and looked at Clark who smiled at him.

"Pete…?"

"Clark," Pete didn't return the smile. In fact, he looked ill. "I don't know how to say this so I'll just say it. Red—Lex, doesn't want you coming to see him anymore." 

Clark's smile faltered and his eyes searched Pete's face for any sign that he was just kidding. "What? What? Why? Why not—" 

"He doesn't want to see you. I'm sorry. And neither does Whitney. He doesn't want to talk to you, see you anymore."

"What are you saying, Pete?" Clark laughed weakly. "They don't like me anymore?"

Pete looked down and nodded, he didn't raise his head again and refused to meet Clark's eyes. "I gotta go Clark, I'm sorry, I really am."

Clark didn't move as Pete walked away. He felt cold, frozen down to his bones. They were right to turn away from him. He was a coward. It was all his fault. He deserved this. It was the least of what he deserved. He had been a coward and now he was paying for it. His parents were still in the kitchen when he came back in and one look at his face brought his mother to her feet.

"Clark, what's wrong, son?" his dad asked. He got up and came to put an arm around his shoulders, and Clark's face crumbled, and tears started rolling down. Holy crap, his dad muttered, and frantically signaled for his mother to take over. She dashed over to Clark's side and wrapped her arms around him. 

"Clark! What's the matter, Hon, what's wrong? Is it Lex?" She directed him over to the table, and he dropped into the chair. Let his head hit the table, and his shoulders shook as he struggled for control. 

"Pete. Pete—he told me Red said for me to keep away, Mom. Whit too. They hate me, and they should! I'm a coward!". Clark looked up and caught his mom giving his dad one of those looks, the look that said 'you better fix this.' How? Clark thought. It wasn't his dad's fault he was a creep.

His dad looked at his mom, his forehead creased up the way it did when he was upset. He dropped into the chair opposite Clark and said, "Son—remember when we told you were adopted?" 

Clark nodded as his mother made a sound of exasperation. Yeah, he'd been shocked, but it explained a lot, like why a redhead and a blonde had a son with black hair, and why he was so giant compared to them…

His dad cleared his throat and began again. "We waited to tell you until we thought you were old enough to handle it—now we have something else we need to tell you—and we want you to remember we love you."

Clark's heart froze. Oh god! He had some horrible disease! Or—he was a mutant! Like Fluffy. He was a mutant poodle…boy. He was a mutant boy….

Seeing his face go pale his mother rushed to tell him, "You aren't sick Clark! Just…well." She stopped and looked at his dad. Clark was still nervous—this was too mysterious, his folks didn't do that kind of thing.

Dad stood and urged Clark to stand with him, "Come on son—I think you need to see this."

They all went out to the backyard, and over to the old storm cellar, the one his dad used to store old machinery and chemicals. He unlocked the doors and threw them wide. His mom shined a flashlight down the stairs, the light bouncing off shapes in the shadows and making the innocent cellar seem ominous. Clark swallowed and followed his dad down, stopped with him as he unlocked another set of doors in the wall of the cellar, and what he'd thought was a recessed cabinet was another room. 

His mom shone the flashlight at the wall while his dad searched for a switch. 

"Ah. Ok, here goes." His dad flipped a switch and the closet—room—whatever—was flooded with light. 

In the center of an otherwise empty space was a metal—egg? "Mom? Dad? What the heck is that?" The thing scared him…and at same time it gave him a feeling of familiarity, safety…what? _How?_

His dad turned to him and said, "You aren't from around here, Clark."

Damn. It sounded like a line from ET, Clark thought. "What, that's a—a space ship?" he joked.

"Well, yes." His dad kind of winced and looked at him with worried eyes. "Yours."

Clark laughed, got scared and laughed even harder at the look of worry and concern and…fear…on his parent's faces. "No, really, what is it?" he said, grinning, waiting for them to answer. 

And then he was backing away. "Dad, Mom, stop playing around. What is that thing?" 

"You're not…you're an alien…you're from the stars. We found you in a field naked as the sky, and speaking…something. We were never certain if it was a language…I went back to the spot later that evening and this was here, at the end of a deep trench in the dirt, and your footprints led away from it. Later meteorites were found all around Smallville, we found some scattered around the spot the ship came from. Some were _huge._ A few had come down in town, one actually…killed people. Lana's parents… others. 

It was a horrible day for the town but a miracle for us. Those rocks, the meteors—son, you can't get close to them. We found when you were little that. They can make you ill, violently ill. We can't be sure, but we think they can even kill you. The green rocks in that factory? They were meteorites—you couldn't have gone inside the building, you couldn't have touched Red after the accident. You're not a coward, your body wouldn't let you …"

Clark couldn't stop backing away as his father told him this. Waves and waves of horror swept through him, his parents were insane, who would take care of him now—but that thing—it was a spaceship he knew it, and words were in his head, words he'd never heard before today, but he understood. He grabbed his pounding head and screamed, whirled and dashed out—

Out of the cellar, out of the yard, out to where he couldn't run anymore. He threw himself on the ground and looked up at the sky, and it hit him—he wasn't human. He wasn't a human being. He rolled to his side and threw up; praying and begging please, let it be a nightmare….


	3. Chapter 3

**AUGUST**

Whit stood behind Red in line, and tried to keep from staring at the miserable bow of his shoulders, tried to still the urge to cup his bare head in his hands. He looked so frail and defenseless without hair, so small....

He knew Red was suffering all the time and he was damn brave, taking the stares and whispers in silence. Most times he held his head high, but today…Whit guessed it was too much.

Everyone treated Lex like he was some kind of freak, like it was his fault what happened. They pinned his father's atrocious behavior on him. Whit blushed deeply, shame coursing through him. Even though, Re—Lex got angry when Whit tried to shoulder the blame, he couldn't help it. If he hadn't been afraid to let Fordman know he'd lost the house key, Lex and…they would have never gone out to the woods that day.

He felt eyes on him and turned to see Clark staring at—not at him, at Lex. Damn Clark. Staring at Lex like he was starving and Lex was the last steak on the plate. And it wasn't like Lex didn't know, and it wasn't like it didn't eat at Lex like acid in his soul. He wanted Clark, Whit knew, but he was afraid and hurt. Clark was a walking lie, a coward, a—a—

Whit dropped his eyes back to his tray, and almost missed what happened next.

Two guys from the team cut into the line, and reached for trays. Older guys, guys that Whit talked to from time to time, mostly when he was high.

"S'up, White-ney,"one of the guys called out, and pushed by Lex. "Hey, Red, move out the way."

Whit saw Lex stiffen and turn to the guy. 

"Fuck you." He said clearly and loudly.

"Hey, you little rat-fuck, who do you think you are, Red? I'll kick your fuckin' ass—"

His buddy took one look at Lex's face and tried to get his friend to shut up. "His name is Lex," he tried to whisper, but the other guy was having none of it. He pushed Lex and snarled, "You bald-headed little—" 

He yelled and staggered back, blood pouring from a gash across his forehead, and before Whit could stop him Lex raised the tray like an axe and chopped down again. Lucky for both of them, the guy rolled on the floor and the tray hit his shoulder and not his head or neck. Whit yelled for Lex to stop. Lex whipped towards him, snarling, teeth bared, his eyes snapped with maniac energy and Whit didn't even recognize him. 

 

The guy's friend took a swing at Lex, Whit jumped in to block the shot and Lex threw a punch, hit the guy in the stomach—there was screaming and shouting and the sound of chairs hitting the floor and suddenly other guys from the team were there, and then Clark was wading into the fray, he grabbed Lex around the middle and jerked him up off the floor, pulling him out of the knot of fighters, and jerking his chin at Whit—"Get him out of here. Lex, Lex calm down! Please! Calm down!"

Lex was screaming in rage and fighting Clark like a rabid animal. He was desperate to get back into the fight. Whit shook his head and yelled at Clark, _"You_ get him out—find Pete!" 

Clark nodded and ran out with Lex, arms still clasped about him, ran holding him like he weighed nothing. Whit watched Clark dash out the door, and thought, 'Damn. Lex is really gonna be pissed about that.'

Suddenly warm breath blew out over his ear. A low voice said, "I'm going to kick your butt, Whit. Have to, okay?"

Whit nodded and Wade punched him hard in the gut, taking him down immediately, taking him out of the fight pretty effectively. Wade dropped to his knees and gripped Whit by his collar, "I'm gonna kill you, you little puke!" he yelled for the benefit of the crowd, but his eyes said something different. Whit squeezed his own eyes tight and hoped the punch wasn't going to hurt too badly.

~o0o~

Lex lay on his bed and thought. And thought. Clark jumped in after him, got into the middle of that stupid debacle—tried to help him. It didn't add up. What the hell was the deal with Clark? He was too afraid to help him in the fire, but leaped in to save him from an ass-whipping? It didn't add up. The way he'd looked almost pathetically grateful when he'd thanked him. If saying "fine thanks now put me the fuck down" could be seen as a thank you.

Suspended from school. Whit, himself, and nobody else. It seemed the Luthor name was working its magic now. In truth, he knew his name was the only thing keeping him from being expelled. That and the old man's perverse pleasure in seeing him tortured. There was no way that Lionel would send him away now, he was sure he found these episodes delicious.

Lex sighed, rolled to his side and punched his pillow viciously. He really wanted to just pull the comforter over his head and go to sleep, not wake up until it was graduation. 

He struggled not to worry about Whit—Whit's dad did not take well to being embarrassed by his son's behavior. Fuck. When was Whitney going to fight back? He could probably take the old bastard now, but Lex saw the fear in Whit's eyes whenever the son-off-a-bitch was near him. Lex sighed as his disjointed thoughts chased through his head.

His face still stung from the slap he'd received—nothing compared to what Whit would get. Lex tongued the scar on his lip, and remembered it as the going away gift he'd gotten, the night before he'd been shipped out of Smallville. He heard his dad's voice in his ear again, felt his breath on his cheek, "My son doesn't kiss boys," he'd hissed and smacked him in the mouth. He remembered hitting the driveway hard, tears of pain running down his face and his dad leaving him there in the dark. 

Bastard. 

Lex remembered too, thinking it was his fault for not watching his back, for letting go of control. His fault, but a good lesson, one he'd never forgotten. 

Until he'd come back to Clark—Smallville.

Lex groaned as his thoughts came back to the right now—why did things have to be so complicated all the time? Fuck it, he thought, as he yanked the covers over his head. I am going to sleep.

 

**OCTOBER**

It was nearly dark and Clark was walking back from the library. He'd had a lot to think about that day. It was kind of scary to see Lex freak like that. He'd managed to get the story from Whit—and wasn't that as much fun as tap-dancing bare foot on meteor shards— and he thought he kind of understood.

Lex didn't want to be called Red, didn't want the reminder of what he'd lost that horrible day. All that pain—and worse, people blamed his dad's insane actions on him, as if he were the jerk instead of the victim. People could really suck sometime….

His thoughts were interrupted by the screech of tires next to him and he glanced over to see a truck, and suddenly he was on his back on the ground and a group of guys from the team were on him, yelling and laughing and pulling him towards the truck—"Scarecrow, scarecrow!"

Damn! He had to go along and act scared. If his parents only knew how many times he had to humiliate himself just to keep the secret…

He hit the bed of the truck and looked up into Whit's eyes—oh. 

Right. Whit played ball…his eyes were chips of blue ice and Clark shivered and closed his eyes. No mercy to be found there.

~o0o~

Whitney watched Clark roll across the bed of the truck, bumping into legs and not making any effort to get free. He wondered why Clark didn't fight back, he was strong enough. Probably more of that weird streak of cowardice—

He fingered the worry stone his pocket, rubbing over and over the bean-shaped stone, the flat side rubbed against the pad of his thumb as he contemplated Clark, the strangeness that was Clark.

Whit knew Clark loved Lex—he knew it even if Clark didn't. Why didn't he help him? He tightened his fist around the stone and gritted his teeth. He didn't care that Clark was going to be hung as a scarecrow—shit; he deserved it, the spineless fuck. And if he was so sure of that, than why did his stomach hurt?

When Clark rolled against his legs, Whit kicked him away and Clark let out a low moan of pain. For a moment Whit's chest tightened, but he turned away, and hardened his heart against him.

It was pitch dark by the time they reached Riley's field, and they pointed the truck lights and the headlights from two other cars at the cross planted in the corn. The guys pulled Clark from the truck, whooping and laughing and pushing him from hand to hand. Whit kept back, he figured this was justice in a way, but he had no desire to torture Clark. He smelled beer, and someone had some weed, and that struck him as being a great idea. He tried to inch back from the crowd, but he got pushed near the front of the group.

In the circle of light cast by the vehicles, he could plainly see Clark. They had him on the ground, and began to strip him.

Whit smirked—oh yeah; there was nothing gay in the slightest about this. His sharp eyes noted which hands lingered a little longer than necessary on that smooth looking tanned flesh. He had to admit, Clark was…hot. His eyes followed the cut of muscle at his hips, a chiseled line that led to a thatch of black hair just visible over the drooping edge of his boxers. He thought of Lex, and felt a little sick and a little turned on, he gripped his worry stone tighter, flipped it a little faster between his fingers.

He felt warmth behind him, and a hand slid into his front pocket. The tip of a hot tongue darted out, ran around the edge of his ear and back. A familiar raspy voice spoke low against his neck. Wade. 

Wade was insane. Just like Wade, taking chances like this—Whit's jeans felt a little tighter. "Getting you hot? The boy scout all spread out like that?" The hand in his pocket squeezed him, making him get harder, and withdrew. Whitney heard the rattle of the metal ball in a can of spray paint, and felt Wade's arm jiggle against his side. He said a little louder, "Wanna paint the 'S', hmm?"

He moved away from him a bit and shook his head no—he avoided Clark's eyes, fuck, they followed him like lasers, burning into him. He looked so fucking disappointed—

They tied him to the cross, and Wade handed off the spray paint to one of the other players, glancing at Whit as he did.

Whit knew Wade passed it on because he thought Whit would be upset if he painted Clark. It made him feel a little better. But still, he was out here with a bunch of idiots who were yelling 'Scarecrow' and acting like, well, a pack of drunken teenage boys, as they strung up a guy who used to be his best friend.

Whit imagined what Red would say. 

_"Lord of the Fuckin' Flies, Whit,"_ and damn, how much of Red—Lex damnit, Lex—was rubbing off on him?

Wade nudged him forward with his hips, and Whit shivered a little when he felt Wade's erection against his ass. "Go on, say goodnight, we gotta go."

Whit walked up to Clark, who looked worried, annoyed and-- impatient? 

Not scared though. Whit called softly out to him.

"Hey! Clark—this is to remind you of Lex." He pulled the worry stone from his jeans pocket. "I got a little souvenir from that night. I've been carrying it around, waiting to give it to you, and tonight just seemed the right time, y'know?"

The stone seemed to glow in the headlights glare as he turned it through his fingers, and Clark did look scared now, he looked ill….

Whit tucked it into the band of Clark's boxers, and Clark gasped, then groaned a little. Whit pulled his hand away like he'd been burned, Clark looked just like he did when Lex got burned—Whit backed away, backed up until he ran into Wade.

"Let's go—I have things to do."

Whit nodded and followed Wade, and refused to look back. In the shadows by Wade's car, Whit asked him for his cell-phone. Wade looked at him and smirked, handed him the phone but stroked a finger across his knuckles and the smirk melted into a look of fond exasperation.

"Who you gonna call first to come get the kid, Lex or Pete? Ya fuckin' boy scout." Wade shook his head. Whit just grinned back.

~o0o~

_Lex and Clark were walking along the edge of the road past Clark's parents' farm, talking. The sun must have gone down without Lex noticing, the sky was dark blue and it was strangely quiet. Clark was saying something, and Lex stopped him._

_"What did you say? I didn't hear you."_

_Clark turned to Lex, his face bright with an enormous smile. "Lex! I know what I want now!"_

_"Oh? That's good…Clark. I'm so happy for you. And what is it that you want?"_

_"You." And he bent his head to Lex and lifted Lex's chin. Lex's heart pounded, _oh, god, he's going to kiss me_ he thought and he trembled, waiting for Clark's lips to touch him, and then he did kiss him and his lips were so soft and warm and he pulled back and whispered Lex's name. Said it again, louder, and Clark's brow creased as he frowned at him, again he said his name, loud, and began shaking his shoulder, and Lex wanted to cry, Clark didn't like the kiss—_

"Lex! Wake up!"

What the fuck? Pete? 

Pete was leaning over Lex, shaking his shoulder and hissing, "Are you awake? Wake up, we have to help Clark!"

Lex jerked out of Pete's grasp and snarled, "Excuse me? I must still be asleep, because you seem to think I give a fuck what happens to Clark." He tried to pull the comforter back over his head, but Pete yanked it down.

"Look, we don't have time for your bullshit with Clark, okay, so— why are you dressed?" he stared down at Lex's fully dressed including shoes form on the bed, a very puzzled expression on his face." Well, at least that saves us time. Come on, let's go."

"I said no—"

"Look you! Bill and Abigail don't know I'm out here, if they find out, I'm grounded for eternity plus, and if they find out I stole the car, I'm a greasy spot on the driveway, so shut the fuck up and let's get Clark."

Lex gasped in horror. "Pete, you so fucking did not take Bill's car! He'll kill you! What the hell is wrong with Clark?" he leaped out of bed, now really alarmed. Oh god, what was wrong with Clark?

"They strung him up in Riley's field, and Whitney says he looks bad, he said to tell you it's like that time at the factory."

Lex was already moving to the door and stumbled when he heard that. It brought up memories he was striving so hard to forget. His hand swept over his scalp quickly before jerking his chin at Pete. "Lead the way, Mr. Criminal Master Mind."

Pete grinned sickly. "Yeah? Pray for us both, I nearly peed myself driving over here. The most driving I've done is in the Wal-Mart parking lot at night, when Sam let me drive his car."

'Oh fuck,' Lex thought,' I'm going to die, and I've never even had sex yet.'

~o0o~

The drive out to the field was every bit as terrifying as Pete thought it would be. It was dark, and the headlights bounced all over the stands of corn on either side of the road, the road dipped and heaved and made him feel as if any moment he was going to go flying off into space.

His nerves weren't helped by Lex's gasps of horror at every bump; at least he stopped grabbing at the wheel every time the car swerved a little. Pete felt kind of bad about hitting Lex earlier, but that high-pitched scream scared him worse than the rabbit dashing across the road had.

He glanced quickly at Lex, who was rubbing his head and glaring angrily back. Damn. He'd forgotten Lex didn't have all that hair now to cushion head slaps. He felt bad, but his apology to Lex had seemed a little less than sincere, what with the snickering and all.

All other thought fled when they turned off the dirt road, and onto a trail blazed by the vehicles that had come through earlier. The car jumped and dipped and they were jolted back and forth, the headlight beams swung wildly across the corn as they drove, shadows forming and shattering in the glare, and suddenly there was Clark, looking otherworldly in the bluish light.

"Clark!" Pete yelled. Pete was horrified; Clark looked like he was dying.

Lex gasped, and clutched the dashboard.

Pete looked at Lex's ghost pale face and it dawned on him—oh.

Lex. Clark.

Lex liked Clark. Really liked Clark. 

He stopped the car, and Lex flew out, and he thought again, _Lex. Is gay. Hunh._

Pete prodded at the thought as he ran to catch up with Lex, and looked up too as Lex stopped and stared up at Clark, his face twisted in as much pain as Clark's was.

God, Clark looked scary he looked so bad. He'd had a big 'S' painted on him; vomit ran down his chest and spattered his legs. 

"Shit!" Pete ran to the back of the cross and yanked at the ropes until they came loose, and Clark dropped into Lex's arms.

Clark leaned forward and gagged, tried to throw up again. He groaned when nothing came up and Pete winced in sympathy, figured it had to hurt. 

When they got him in the car, Pete added another guilty thought to his growing list, a hope that Clark wouldn't puke in his dad's car. He felt bad that his only thought wasn't about Clark's wellbeing.

They settled him in the car, and got in the front seats.

Lex looked at him and sighed. "Promise not to kill us on the way home, okay? 

"Yeah. Hey, you have to call his parents."

"What, and tell them about their son's country-style crucifixion?"

"No," Clark moaned from the back seat.

"Clark, why the hell not?" Pete asked.

"I—I have my reasons okay, please don't tell. Promise me"

"Yeah, sure, Clark." Pete glanced at Lex who was looking into the rearview mirror and frowning.

They managed to get back to the castle in one piece and got Clark up the stairs.

George, the butler, looked and walked away, shaking his head. 

At Pete's look Lex replied, "He wouldn't give a crap if I brought a flock of hookers in here. As long as I don't burn the place down."

They manhandled Clark into Lex's room and onto the bed. 

"Lex, man, you're on your own now. I've got to get the car home before my parents find out I'm gone."

"Pete," Clark groaned," I'm so sorry, I hope you don't get in trouble 'cause of me."

"Don't worry about it, Clark." Pete looked Lex. "It's what friends do."

Lex's mouth twisted and he jerked his thumb at the door. "Yes, thank you, Pete. Go before you get in trouble. I don't want Bill and Abigail to kill all of us."

Pete nodded, squeezed Lex's shoulder. "Be cool Lex," he said warningly, and left.

Lex turned to Clark and grimaced. He looked awful—he smelled, he was filthy—  
"Come on Clark, Let's get you in the bathroom, get you cleaned up. And you have to call your parent's, they must be going nuts"

"Okay." Clark tried to get off the bed, and could barely move. Lex grabbed his arms and pulled him upright, wincing at the feel of dried vomit under his palms, and simultaneously feeling the heat and smoothness of Clark's chest under his clasped hands. 

"Get your feet under you, Clark; we'll make it to the bathroom that way—"

He pulled and yanked and managed to get a barely mobile Clark into the shower. He dumped him on the floor.

"Oh damn! Sorry," as a huge groan burst out of Clark's mouth and he slumped against the wall. Lex warned him that he was about to start the spray and he nodded, dropping his head down and closing his eyes.

The warm spray hit him and he shuddered from head to toe, and slowly worked his way to standing. Lex turned in the doorway and looked back, Clark's eyes were closed, it was okay; he wouldn't see Lex staring at boxers made translucent by the water. He was… 

"Lex," he groaned. "Help."

Lex started, and came to himself, moved closer to the shower. "Help? How…what do you want me to do?"

Clark pulled weakly at his boxers, "Off—help me—off."

Lex felt blood rush to his face, and his lips were dry. "Ah—ok, if you think so."

He reached out and pulled at the band a little, and Clark spoke, his voice a little stronger, firmer— "Off!"

And Lex yanked them down. Before he could register that Clark was naked he saw something green glowing on his hip, something poisonous looking and he reflexively smacked it away. Clark dropped back against the shower wall and hissed, and Lex could see a…hole, as if acid had been dripped onto Clark's skin, black and green and virulent. He jerked back and glanced up at Clark, when he looked again at Clark's hip, there was nothing but a faint reddish spot there. "What the hell?"

Clark moaned and sighed. "Thank you. Lex. Thank you for coming for me."

Lex dropped his soaking wet arm to his side. "Yes, fine, Clark. No problem."

He stepped back out of the bathroom unable take his eyes off the sight of Clark under the spray, hair covering his eyes, his head tipped back, and water running into his open mouth, his boxers pulled down to his thighs. Lex was harder than he'd ever been in his life, and his heart pounded in his throat. He backed up, shut the door carefully and moaned, he reached down and squeezed himself and bit his hand to keep from making noises, wondered if he had time to make it to the hall bath, when he heard the water shut off. He hurried over to his bed, and whirled around, he felt trapped, he was terrified. And then Clark was in the doorway, wearing a towel. A towel. In his bedroom. God.

He stood in the bathroom doorway, and Lex ran into his closet, grabbed sweat pants from the shelf and came out with them clutched to his chest. "These might fit, we, ah, forgot your clothes…"

Clark still was silent, but he looked pained, and angry. "Lex," he said finally, his voice rough and angry and he stepped closer.

"Lex," he said again, and stood in Lex's way. Clark dropped his eyes. Lex was desperate for Clark to get dressed before he embarrassed himself but…"Lex," Clark said his name like it explained everything, grabbed Lex, held him in a grip of iron and…kissed him. 

It was a wild and wet and terrible kiss, smeary and skittering all over Lex's mouth and jaw and he thought his heart might explode. His dick lifted with every groan Clark made, with every nip to his lip when it caught on Clarks' teeth. Clark pulled back, panting wildly, his eyes too wide, and he made a sound like—like he was in agony and dropped to his knees in front of Lex.

Lex's head was swimming and his knees wobbled, he was going to pass out, he was sure of it… he was so fucking happy, so unbelievably happy. He groaned deep in his chest and curled over Clark. Clark mumbled something, pressed his face against Lex's throbbing erection and rubbed his cheek against it, rubbed his lips over it and opened his mouth and breathed warm air over it, and Lex realized Clark was moaning his name, over and over. 

Lex rose to his toes, oh god, he was going to come, he couldn't stop it— _not yet, please, not yet—_ "No! Not—" He came so hard his back arched, his toes curled, he stopped breathing, everything that was important centered in his dick, coming….

And then he was falling forward, alone—he was on his hands and knees on his bedroom floor, alone with wet pants and he was shaking…if the towel hadn't been on the floor under him he would have sworn it was a dream. 

Clark…Clark left him, he must have blacked out and Clark _left_ him. 

Lex dropped onto the towel and sobbed. He was embarrassed, humiliated—he hated Clark, hated him more than anything on the planet, and hated him more than—than his dad.

~o0o~

Clark sped home, his heart hammering, his ears burning, and tears frozen on his face.

He was a monster, a horrible, horrible person! Lex had begged him not to touch him but. Oh god, what could he do? How could he tell anyone what he did? He'd forced himself on Lex , if he hadn't topped, it would have been rape. He'd almost raped his best friend.

Clark came to a vibrating stop, bent over and clutched his stomach.

He really thought it was the right thing, what he'd been doing, he thought Lex had wanted it too—but he'd been so wrong, terribly wrong.

Lex said stop. He'd said no, and Clark had just—just—

 

**MAY**

"Well, next up, sophomore year. I hope to hell it's going to be better than freshman year," Pete groused as they walked along the road. Pete groaned inside and shifted the bag full of crap he'd emptied out of his locker higher on his shoulder. Clark looked down on him with a sympathetic expression.

"I don't know Pete; I thought you did pretty good this year, what with being on the football team, and the million girlfriends and all."

Pete looked up at his friend with an incredulous expression. "I wasn't talking about me, Clark I was talking about Lex, and Whit and…you know…."

Clark looked at his feet as he trudged along. 

"I know—it was a rough year. Poor Lex. He had so much awful stuff to deal with. But he'll come through," Clark said his brow creased with worry. "I'm sure of it."

Pete nodded and tried to look confident. Lex may not have been exactly a popular kid, but he'd never been one of those whose lives was a daily hell until recently. Most of it he brought on himself. He was bitter, sarcastic and biting, even cruel sometimes, any sympathy he might have gained because of the fire was slowly turning into dislike of him.

Clark knew it was the scarecrow incident and its aftermath that put the nails in that coffin.

He hadn't seen Lex since the night he ruined any chance he might have had to regain his friendship. He cursed himself every day for doing what he did to Lex. He was a bastard and he couldn't even confess his crimes to anyone. 

One thing he was pretty sure of. Sort of. He was gay. Yes. Maybe.

Was he gay? He looked at Pete and tried to imagine him naked, maybe in the shower, soaping up, big fluffy clouds of soap sliding down his body…Clark burst into giggles and Pete whipped his head up to look at him.

"What, what is it? He rubbed his nose quickly. "Is it a booger? Clark! Did you let me walk around all day with a booger hanging out my nose?" He scowled at Clark and swiped his nose again.

"No, no, you're fine, Pete." He was not about to tell Pete he was trying to imagine him naked in the shower, but what really made him laugh was remembering taking a bath with Pete when they were toddlers and making shampoo hats on their heads. Pete had screamed like a banshee when shampoo got in his eyes, and his mom came running in the bathroom and boy, a pissed off Abbie was scary as heck….

So. Okay. Not gay about Pete. Pete was not his type. God.

He had a type?

Oh yeah. He had a type all right….

Pete stopped and gave Clark a measured look.

"Ok, Kent. Spill. Something's on your excuse for a mind. You've been weird since we left school. You hardly speak all the way home and, and then you start laughing out of nowhere. Geez. We really need to get you hooked up with Whit and Lex again."

Clark shook his head, and the warmth that had bloomed in his chest at remembering good times wilted at the thought of Whit and Lex. Lex was never going to speak to him again. And damnit, it was hard having to avoid Pete's house now that Whit was living there. Clark let self-pity well up and overcome him. Great. He was like a man with no country.

~o0o~

Whit sighed and leaned his head against the wall. His head hurt, the stupid wood bench hurt his ass, it sucked to have to go to summer school and it sucked worse to be in trouble in summer school. He waited for Pete's dad to arrive and hoped he wasn't going to have to…whatever. Something. Just the idea that the Ross' might make him move out—he'd already stretched their patience to the limit with this summer school shit, but it was Wade's fault, constantly grabbing him and taking off, class or no class…nah, that was bullshit. It was his fault for never telling Wade no. 

Oh well. No one knew better than he did what serious shit you could survive. It was time he told Wade to grow the hell up… _Right. I'm so sure. Wade would just love that._ Whit sighed, and the usual stew of conflicting emotions that gripped him when he thought of Wade chased around in his head. Fuck.

He stared at the tiled wall, and wondered why anyone would design a school to look like an insane asylum when he heard a little dry cough at his side.   
Bigger fuck.

"Whitney. Wait here. I'll be back in a minute. And. Don't. Go. Anywhere."Mr. Ross glared at him, and Whitney felt sick.

Judging by the look on Mr. Ross''s face, Whit figured he'd screwed up bad now. He wanted to run but his legs felt weak and shaky. He had to stay. He sat with his head hanging down, and tried to breathe normally, but his stomach kept clenching and burning. It seemed like forever before Mr. Ross came back out of the office.

He stared at the wall behind Whit for a long moment not meeting his eyes, and Whit's mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls.

"Young man, I'm going to have to have a serious talk with you. Now. Let's go." He walked off and Whit leaped to his feet and followed, every step on the tiles driving up his legs and jarring his gut. 

They were out in the parking lot and hit bright, bright sunlight, so bright Whit's eyes watered and burned. Mr. Ross was suddenly in his face. 

"Whitney! You really have to—"

as he began to speak, he lifted his hand and Whit yelled,"No!" Hands up and curled over his head, squeezing himself as small as he could and—his arms hurt, his shoulder, his ribs hurt— "No, Dad!" A smack so hard he really did see stars, like a cartoon—the taste of blood, so much it made him want to vomit—

'WHIT!"

"What! What," he panted, the world did a snap and roll and he looked at the man in front of him, a man with caramel colored skin and dark brown eyes, eyes full of horror and—and pity. Whit threw himself back and Mr. Ross grabbed him by the shoulder. 

"Whitney, Whitney—no one's going to hit you, okay? Promise. We don't do that—you're almost a grown man, way too old for spankings." He tried to smile, but it wavered a bit, and Whit closed his eyes against the sadness in Pete's dad's eyes. 

Mr. Ross pushed him into the car and drove out of the parking lot of the school.   
"We're going to take a little drive around, okay?"

Whit nodded his head miserably. He knew what this was all about. It was okay, if they wanted him to go. It wasn't like he had no place to go to. Wade would let him stay with him, or maybe the Kent's barn, he could stay there again. He smiled a little. He'd loved it when he was a kid…

They pulled into a little park, the sort of place families went on the weekend and dads barbequed on the grills there, and kids played on the swing sets while moms sat on benches close by to watch them. Whit looked around and could picture the Ross' cooking out, the older boys' playing ball… _just a terrific little picture of domestic tranquility,_ he thought bitterly. _I was probably getting the shit kicked out of me while Pete was playing on the swings here.…_

Mr. Ross led him over to a bench and sat on the table with his feet on the seat, and when he told Whit to sit down, Whit copied him.

"Look, like I said, you're almost a grown man, and I'm gonna talk to you like a fuckin' man, you hear?" he threw a look over his shoulder, after all these years, it was automatic, the whole family did it; Whit grinned, even he'd started to do it. Mrs. Ross was fearsome when she was mad, and nothing pissed her off like improper language, or 'bad behavior' a nebulous term that meant anything she didn't like. 

Mr. Ross caught Whit's grin and grinned back, shrugged a little, before he looked serious again.  
"Abbie and I, we knew what we were doing when we asked if you wanted to live with us. We've known you ever since you were a little pint-sized pain in the butt. Always underfoot, and into everything." He grinned hugely at Whitney, shook him by the shoulder. "Man, you were too much. We missed you a lot when you kind of backed away. We felt like shit that we didn't step in sooner." He cast his eyes down, looked a little ashamed...

"You know, when Mr. Kent and I talked to your dad that night, your dad cried. Yeah, I wanted to kick his ass too," he said when Whit made a noise of disgust.

"Yeah, hell yeah he cried, the fucker. He was feeling sorry for his self. And Jonathan…he can be a scary son-of-a- bitch when he wants to be. He was right in your dad's face, told him to give you up or he'd have the cops on his case, his business in the crapper and his foot up his butt so far, he was gonna taste cowshit." Mr. Ross shook his head in admiration. "It was pretty damn spectacular." He grinned. "Fordman was practically begging to sign those guardianship papers by the time Kent was done explaining to him why he should…"

Whitney didn't even ask where his mother was in all this. He didn't give a shit; they could both go to hell as far as he cared.

Mr. Ross looked at him as if he knew what Whitney was thinking and he smiled warmly. "Hey. You were the best thing to come out of this, you know. We argued for you, boy."

Whit's head shot up and he looked at Mr. Ross suspiciously.

"Really .The Kent's wanted you to stay with them—but we have more room now that Pete's the only one home full time now and well, you know Abbie...Whit. You have no idea how much the people you know care about you, do you?"

Whit stared at his shoes and shrugged. He didn't trust himself to say anything at this instant. They both had wanted him? It—it hardly seemed possible. 

"But listen now, I'm serious as a heart attack— you stop it, Whit. Stop fucking up, damn it, stop fighting and relax a little, ok? You're not going anywhere. You're home now. You hear me?" He reached out and squeezed Whit's shoulder, and it reminded him of Pete and Sam, and he knew whom they'd gotten it from. Their generosity of spirit, and willingness to love had to come from this man. 

Whit nodded, and Mr. Ross stood. "Ok. I mean it boy, don't make me come to the school again, ok? 'Cause next time, I 'm sending Abbie. And Sam."

Whit faked a full body shiver, to mask the fact that he really was just a little afraid of Abigail Ross. And Sam, he didn't want to piss Sam off either.

As if he read his mind, Mr. Ross called over his shoulder. "You really do not want to piss your brothers off! Come on, 'fore Abbie sends the hounds after us. God—I hope she's not pissed about dinner…and what am I going tell her about today? Do you think I have to tell her?" He looked at Whit hopefully.

Whit reluctantly nodded his head. "Yeah. I guess we have to. Damn."

Mr. Ross exhaled a long loud breath. "Yeah. Damn."

They walked back to the car, Mr. Ross' arm thrown around his shoulder.

"We could get Pete to tell her…."

"Yeah, she never gets mad at Pete—well, not too mad."

"So, just so we're clear here, Whit—I kick your butt next time you get in trouble, right?"

"Sure, I get it. But Sam has a standing appointment to do it."

"Ah. Good. He's a good boy, Sam."

Whit nodded. Sam was doing well now, graduated and working in an ad agency in Metropolis. The best part about it was, he was home more frequently now, not just summer breaks and holidays. He smiled to himself. Every time Sam came come was like a holiday. He was the best, he really was.

And now, Whit thought, here he was in Sam's house, with Sam's parents, and Sam's brother, sleeping in his old bed…and not following that thought, he scolded himself.

 

**JUNE**

Lex stared at Whitney and Pete and wondered when it was they had lost their minds."Let me get this straight —Clark is suffering and it's my fault? You're worried about _Clark?"_

He glared at Whit, so angry that the hand that swept over his head shook a little. The sun was too bright, reflecting off the white stone in the drive and making his head ache."Clark Kent? We are talking about the same guy? Isn't he the guy you and your little pals crucified last fall, Whit?"

"Look, Red, it happened, it's over. Besides, he's stalking me. Everywhere I go, he's there, staring at me. It's making me feel bad about him. And after all, he helped you, didn't he? When you had that fight?" Whit raised a hand to wipe the sweat off his brow, and scuffed his feet through the stones.

Lex whipped towards Pete. "It was you wasn't it? You and your family. This has Ross written all over it. Your mother, your dad, brain-washing Whit, and god knows he has little to spare!"

"Hey!" Whit protested. "Don't take it out on us. You've got to give it up, Red. We need to get back together, all of us—we need to be the Musketeers again."

Lex sneered at Whitney. "Why Whit? You've got your happy little family now, so you think you can fix everything? What would your happy little family think about Wade, hmm? Would they still love you if they knew what you do with him, Whit?"

Pete looked at Whit, puzzled. "What's he mean Whit? Are you still getting high with those guys?"

Whitney looked at Lex with a mixture of hurt and anger. "Man, Red, you can be a dick when you want, hunh?"

"Hey, better than sucking dick, Whit." The minute it was out of his mouth he wanted to cut his tongue out, but he refused to look ashamed or sorry.

"FUCK you, Red!" Whit kicked up a spray of stones; Pete yelped and jumped out of the way. Whitney whipped around and stalked to the car in the driveway, yanked the door open and threw himself in, slamming the door shut as hard as he could.

Pete gaped at Lex in shock. "Lex! I can't believe you! Why are you being such a jerk…?" At Lex's sardonic grin Pete asked, "Is it true? Him and Wade?" Pete looked down the drive towards the car, but the expression on his face was one of worry. Wade was not the type of person Whit should be hanging out with, Pete thought, not in any kind of way. Why Wade, when Whit had the chance to go with so many people, better people.

Lex laughed nastily, "What do you think of your little roomie now? Wade hasn't been the only one, either—" 

"What do I think of him, Lex? A hell of a lot better than I think of you right now. What the heck is this? Why are you attacking Whit? He didn't screw up things between you and Clark! "

Lex jerked back in shock but Pete kept yelling, "You think I don't know how you feel about Clark? You think you're hiding it so damn good? Maybe that's why you're so pissed at Whit. So he's with Wade—at least he's honest with himself! Why don't you try it?" Pete stepped closer. "It was his call to tell me, not yours." 

Pete was angry, so angry his voice shook. He stepped forward again, his fists balled. "Go on Pete, hit me," Lex snarled, but his eyes were red and gleamed with tears. Pete dropped his fists and sighed hard.

"I don't understand why you're doing this, why you want to hurt him, Lex. Whitney's always looked out for you. Why would you hurt him? He's not betraying you; he's trying to help you, is all." Pete backed up the drive, holding Lex's eyes with his.

He whirled and dashed down the drive. Whitney threw the car into gear and white stones sprayed out from under the tires, spattering back to the ground, and a few spitting against Lex's legs.  
Lex stood in the drive long after the car was gone. They had no idea. No idea at all what he was going through.

He thought about all the days, all the days without Clark. All the days since Clark had rejected him again. He did need to stop thinking. He did need to act. There had to be an end to this pain. Screw this crazy Luthor business. What had it gained him but a lot of loneliness? Hell, he could see the result of the Luthor way. He didn't want to be his dad, bitter, alone, closed off from any kind of meaningful human contact. As far as Lex could tell, the man was incapable of love, surely unable to accept it. He wasn't going to repeat his dad's mistakes. No way. No way in hell was he going to live his dad's life. He turned back up the drive, trudging alone and kicking stones with every step. Stupid stones…stupid drive…stupid ostentatious pile of shit castle in the middle of fucking Kansas. 

He banged on the door until George answered with a look that plainly said don't you have a key you twit, purely for the satisfaction of knowing there were people who had to do what he said when he said it. He didn't like to admit it, but there were times when knowing he had some power, however small, gave him a sense of satisfaction, more so since the accident than before. Of course it was petty and kind of childish. After all, this was only a reflection of his dad's power, not his own. 

Not yet. 

A quiet cough reminded him he was still lingering on the step, and he pinked and swept into the house head up, ignoring the faint sneer on George's face. He looked forward to someday hiring George away from his dad so he could fire him, and then make sure he ended up living under a bridge somewhere.

Lex stomped up to his room and threw himself on his bed. He kicked his shoes so they went sailing and enjoyed the satisfying clunk they made as they hit the wall. He shoved his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. 

Maybe I should ask dad about having something painted up there, as much time as I spend staring at the damn ceiling. He closed his eyes and relived the last hour and wished sincerely he hadn't been such an asshole. What a fucked up, stupid way to treat his best friend.

Sometimes it was if another person lived inside of him, a cold, evil son of a bitch who possessed him and hurt everyone around him, hurt him just as much and then left him to deal with the aftermath. If there were any way he could turn back time, and erase the last hour of his miserable life, he would. 

Lex rolled to his side and thought about this Luthor thing, this stiff necked 'never apologize never forgive' attitude with which his father had gifted him. He didn't want to be his dad, couldn't stomach the thought of life as a constant game in which victory was the only reward and crushing your opponent the only satisfaction… he laughed bitterly to himself. Even if your opponent was your son…

He sighed again, a huge gusty sigh and stood, fished his cell phone out of his pocket. If he didn't want to be his dad, then the first thing he needed to be was honest with himself. And if that meant begging Whit to forgive him, so be it, because he couldn't lose him too. No matter what happened. If Whit ended up with Clark, he'd live with it. He had to. Whatever it took. Eventually they'd all be friends again, he knew it. 

And if he should somehow change Clark's mind about him…well, it was Smallville. 

Unbelievable things did happen.

~o0o~

Clark lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he should ask his folks if he could take on a part time job. They needed him, that was true, but it'd be great to have a little spending money of his own, to do with what he wanted. There were a bazillion farm stands and the like that would hire a fifteen year old. There was always a paper route too, and if he got a rural route, he could run the route and not even need a car; he could get the papers out early enough that no one would see him.

He tried to come up with some terrific reason his parent's couldn't argue with when he heard a chink against his window glass. For a moment his heart soared and he thought, Lex! And of course it wasn't Lex; it had to be Pete, the only one of them that still spoke to him. He rolled over and got off the bed, glancing at the clock. It was eleven, and Clark was surprised that Pete wasn't with his girlfriend. That still made Clark grin; Pete's girlfriend, Lana. Lana and Pete.

After a rocky start, the two were doing fine. Pete's folks hadn't been especially pleased at first, and Nell…that was an education in itself. Lana was a special person to overcome all those – expectations Nell had placed on her. It was great to see the two of them so happy with each other. It made him feel good, and at times, little envious, but….

He opened the window and leaned out, ready to call down to Pete. And smacked his head hard on the raised sash, almost forgot to say 'ow', he was so surprised.

No. _Shocked._ Shocked was definitely the word to use. He'd spent half the summer break following Whit like a pathetic puppy and here he was in the yard. Damn. Maybe he was there to kick his butt for stalking him….

Whit stood in the darkness below, gesturing for Clark to come down. Clark nodded quickly, too surprised to speak, and hurriedly threw on a sweatshirt, before dashing barefoot down the stairs, afraid Whit might change his mind and leave again.

When he was out in the yard, he saw Whit was already moving to the barn, and Clark followed him up to the loft.

"Clark." Whit greeted him like yesterday was the last time he'd spoken to him.

Clark's chest burned with a dozen conflicting emotions: joy, and worry, and anger; here was the guy who'd let his friend be attacked and hung and helped it to happen, but logically he also knew he was the guy who'd called for help for him and…and …"Whit."

"Clark…."He stopped, blew out a blast of air hard enough to lift his bangs, and started again." I—I'm sorry, I'm sorry and I miss you, and I want us to be friends again, because anything could happen and…and…I. Don't want to miss you forever, you know?" 

Clark fought to not turn into a five year old, and start crying or hug Whit or anything embarrassing. "Okay, Whit, I feel the same way. If you want to be friends again, I'd like that." 

Clark held his hand out to Whit and Whit took it gravely and shook Clark's hand firmly.  
"Good, Clark, great. Well. I'm glad we could talk, that's good. I guess I'll go now, speak to you tomorrow?"

He stared down in ferocious concentration as if the toes of his sneakers were completely fascinating, and swept his hand over his forehead and back in a gesture that reminded Clark of Lex.

"Yeah Whit, that'd be great."

Clark didn't move from the stairs, he was blocking the way and Whit stood in front of him, patiently waiting for him to move aside and suddenly Clark was in the loft, grabbing Whit and hugging him hard, lifting him off the floor and swinging him around and his breath burst out explosively against Whit's shoulder. "Oh. God! I thought I was gonna die without you guys! I missed you so damn much!"

Whit's eyes were squeezed shut and he hugged Clark back just as hard, and let himself be swung around, and just grinned and grinned. 

Clark finally let Whit down, but kept his hands on his shoulders. A little part of him was afraid to let go, afraid that Whit might disappear, that he'd wake up and still be in his bed, and this was all a dream.

Whit just grinned back; he reached up and squeezed Clark's hands. "It's real."

Clark laughed. "Whit, god. I missed you."

He pushed Whit over to the couch, and got two juice bottles out of the mini fridge and tossed one to Whit.Whit caught it without thought and cracked the seal, took a long drink, and launched into a long rambling tale of what had happened since the rift with Clark, ending with Lex and his problems before asking Clark, "What happened?"

Clark blushed a deep, deep red, and tried to pretend he didn't understand Whit's question. Damn. He'd almost forgotten that about Whit, his habit of cutting straight to the bone, not screwing around with the niceties.

"I have no idea—"

"What happened to Red, what did you do to make him go nuts—" Whit held up a hand to cut off Clark's protest, "I'm not here to accuse you or blame you, I'm not talking about the fire. It's different, he's so …hurt, and pissed. I just want you to help me with Red, and everything in his world revolves around you so…what happened?"

Clark's mouth opened, shut, opened, and he said, " Whit, I know you guys think I didn't want to help Lex—it's not true, I really, really—I just couldn't. I can't explain. I wish I could. It happened and every day I think about it, and every day I curse myself." He looked into Whit's eyes and pleaded for him to see what was there. "I love Lex, I'd never let harm come to him if I could help it, believe me please." He looked off to the side for a moment, an unhappy twist of a smile on his face. "Besides, I really don't think Lex's world revolves around me."

Whit said nothing, he just nodded and Clark hoped it was enough for him. He could tell by the little frown on his face he'd noticed Clark hadn't actually answered his question, but he was willing to go forward, thank god.

 

The two talked on for a while, and finally Clark made Whit call the Rosses and tell them he was spending the night at Clark's. 

"Well judging by the screams of glee, I'd say it's okay for me to stay over. And that was just Bill, I can't imagine Abigail's reaction—" He dodged a pillow Clark tossed.

"Ah! Now you have to be nice to me or I'll tell Abigail what you said!"

"Jesus, Clark, don't even make a joke about it," he said, clutching his chest. "She'd kill me. You know, one of these days we're going to slip up and call them by their first names and she's going to kick our asses."

They stretched out, Clark on the couch and Whit dropping to the floor, shoving the pillow Clark had tossed at him behind his head. "Hey Clark, why did you follow me around like that? All the time?" Whit scooted around until he could throw his feet up on the couch.

Clark looked down and frowned. "I don't know really, it just seemed…I had to see you guys. But Lex would have killed me. You'd let me talk eventually. Maybe get Lex to talk to me…"He grinned and blushed.

Whit snorted. "Great. Once again I'm second best to Red. Oh well. I'm almost used to it," he laughed as Clark shoved his feet to the side.

Clark grinned at him and then his expression changed, the bright smile dimmed a bit and his eyes looked a little less vibrantly green, and Whit thought here it comes; something's bothering him—  
Clark glanced at him quickly before looking away. "I don't like Wade."

Whit waited for him to go on for a minute and finally asked when Clark gave no sign of continuing, "Okay, kinda out of left field but, why?

"Because he doesn't want you, he just wants to have you."

Whit tried to tease out the difference between wanting and wanting to have. He wondered what happened to Clark to make him think about people that way. Was it the fire? Because as much as he loved Clark and Clark loved them, he'd never been one to worry about more than the superficial things before. If his friends seemed happy it had always been good enough for Clark before and now—

Whit got up and wandered around the loft, touching things like a person long gone from home and surprised to be back. He was thinking hard about his response to Clark's observation and he could see from his face he'd overstepped the bounds of their fledgling truce. 

"It's okay, Clark," he sighed. "I'm not in love with Wade or anything—don't worry about me and him."

"I can't help but worry. I see you throwing yourself down a hole with him for no good reason." He got up and came around to where Whit was standing.

Whit turned his head and Clark was standing next to him, looking at him with those big green eyes, the picture of concern of worry.

"You should have more. You should have a lot more; you're a good person, Whit. You've always been a good person." He stared into Whit's eyes and Whit stepped back. Clark stepped forward, and Whit took another step back and closed his eyes. He felt queasy and afraid, like he was a little kid again, waiting for his dad to come home from work, not knowing who was going to walk through the door, dad or monster dad. He felt something hit the back of his knees and stopped. In the darkness he felt warm breath on his mouth and he knew the second before it happened Clark was going to kiss him, but not why….

It was…nice. Soft and slow, and really nice. His head tilted back without conscious thought, and Clark hummed in approval against his lips, the buzz made him try to lick them and Clark made a small sound and opened his lips. Whit's tongue slid across his own lips and touched   
Clarks/ and he groaned and kissed Whit hard, bruising his lips. 

They stepped apart from each other, breathing hard. Whit's mind raced with a thousand thoughts. He couldn't do this, shouldn't do this. Lex would never forgive him, didn't need to know, didn't need to tell.

Clark looked stunned, he looked like Whit felt. What the hell had just happened? And then his eyes clouded, and he stepped in again, kissing softly and pushing the tip of his tongue in and out of Whit's mouth and pressing against him, hips against hips with their dicks trapped between. It felt good, Clark was so hard and it almost hurt when he ground against him.

Clark ran his fingers into Whit's hair, the strands running through his fingers like silk, he ran them up over Whit's head and shifted the fingers until he was cupping his head and Clark's hands were buried in Whit's hair, tilting his head back and kissing him deeply. It felt good, it felt safe, like Clark was holding him away from anything that could hurt and Whit let him take charge. Clark thrust against him hard and groaned, and then he jerked back. "Whitney, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that." He panted, sweating and red-faced and looking completely upset and Whit marveled that Clark could grow up around him and still be so naïve, so…kind of sweet.

"I liked it, Clark. I'm not going to act like you didn't do it. Sorry." He wasn't going to play Clark's little game of "if you don't speak about it, it never happened." He was pretty sure he wanted more and he wanted it right now. 

And then Clark shocked the hell out of him. He grinned back, still blushing a little and said, "Yeah. I liked it too."

"Okay then." Whitney smiled. Clark could still surprise him. He thought for sure he was going to blame himself and whine about it, beat himself up but…wow. Clark grew up a little since last year.

This time Whit took the lead, and led Clark over to the couch, pushed him gently until Clark dropped down. Whit sat next to him and they kissed again. Gentle kisses turned harder, turned frantic, desperate, and Clark was gasping and moving against Whit, begging noises leaking from his lips and Whit pushed him back. Clark dropped back to his elbows, looked a little stunned and worried. His flannel sleep pants were tented, and a damp spot on the front gave evidence of how affected he was. Whit leaned over and ran his hand over Clark's erection, pressing his thumb into the damp spot, rubbing over the head of Clark's dick. Clark trembled and moaned when his dick twitched and his head dropped forward, tracking the movement of Whit's hand, his chest raising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Whit ran his fingers along the length again and watched as Clark's dick rose and pushed the fabric out and he couldn't wait one minute more.

Whit unsnapped his jeans and skimmed them off with his boxers, dropped back down on the couch. He pulled Clark down, moving his limbs until he was flat on his back and his legs a little apart. Clark gasped when Whit pulled his flannel pants down, knuckles skimming his hips as they slid down, leaving burning trails on his sensitive flesh. Clark groaned when the air hit his dick, and reached for himself. Whit smacked his hand lightly away and stretched out on him, matching their bodies together, chest to chest, belly to belly, dick to dick—Whit thrust up against him and Clark's eyes rolled back and he groaned so loud, Whit felt it in his own chest. He dropped his head onto Clark's shoulder and slid up again and it pulled another chest rattling groan out of him.

"Whit, Whit, I'm gonnna die, stop, stop, please—"

Whit laughed into his sweat-drenched chest and licked a nipple until Clark was moaning and jerking his hips into Whit. "I promise you won't die—promise." He slid against Clark again, the increasingly slick groove of his hip, the catch and drag of dick against dick making him groan deep in his throat. Clark grabbed his hips, held him in place and thrust against Whit hard and fast—his desperate breath warped into hoarse screams. 

Whit felt him twitch and jerk, the hot silken friction was pushing him to his limit, he could feel broad wet stripes forming on his belly as Clark dripped and slid and ground against him…

Clark called his name, he looked panicky and frightened—"Help me, help me—I don't know what to do—" 

"Oh yeah, I will, I will." Whit pulled away and slid down, licked at Clark's dick and ran his hand down the shaft and Clark screamed low and long as his back bent, he strained up in an arch, came in pulsing jets and begged Whit to save him and Whit caught it on the chin and chest before he could capture Clark again and sucked him down to the root. Clark looked down, mouth frozen open on the scream that echoed in Whit's head and Whit slid back up, pushed his hips forward, sweat and come slicking the way, back and forth until he couldn't hold any longer, and came so hard he felt like his spine was cracking. He could feel Clark's dick pulsing against his and looked up to lock eyes with Clark, his eyes so wide and staring at Whit in amazement, then they closed and his lips moved and Whit shut his own eyes before he could see what Clark was saying.

After a while the need to move became paramount, and Whit groaned when Clark tipped him onto the floor. "We need to get comfortable, don't you think?" Whit grinned at him from his place on the floor. "Clark, you're naked …"

"Shut up, Whit, so are you." Clark crossed over to a trunk against the wall and pulled a blanket out, tossed it to him before looking out at the gray light inching its way through the loft doors. 

"Un-hunh. Boy, we are so going to pay for this. Looks like I only have a couple of hours left before I have to get up and help Dad. So, shhh—go to sleep, so I can sleep, okay?"

Whit looked at Clark in pleased surprise. Clark never did what he expected him to do. No angsting, no over-examination of what happened? Was this really his Clark?

Clark lay down and rolled against Whit, heaved a huge sigh and was out like a light. Whit lay still, knowing that he'd never be able to sleep, not after the events of the night. It was insane, just insane…but he felt …good. 

He smothered a yawn. He was just going to wait until Clark woke up again and get up with him.


	4. Chapter 4

Whit groaned and rolled over, blinking against the sunlight pouring in through the window. Clark hung over him; a huge grin on his face and Whit was blinded again. Was it possible for someone to be too good looking, especially at this time of the morning?

"Clark what time is it?" He groaned and tried to sit up, but Clark pushed him gently back down.

"It's ten-o-clock. I've been up forever. Mom and Dad went downtown to do some shopping and I'm on my own." He looked purely delighted, his eyes sparkled as he sat next to Whit. "We can hang out—if you want to?" 

He looked a little unsure so Whit was quick to reassure him. "Sounds good, Clark."

~o0o~

It was hot and humid and the little breeze that wavered in the air just made things worse. Lex's shirt clung to him like a sticky second skin and his nerves were fraying with every breath he took. The thing stuck and unstuck to him to him with every movement and in a minute he was going to rip it to shreds. He was trying to read and in the shade of the gazebo, it should have been a pleasant afternoon, but the humidity and Whitney were making it impossible to relax and enjoy his book.

"Whitney, stop. Grow up for fuck's sake," he growled as Whit snickered and blew in his ear for the hundredth time that afternoon.

"Re—e—ed," he whined and slumped down lower on the bench. "Come on. Come to the mall with me and Clark. Please?" 

Lex sighed. Whit was driving him insane. Since he and Clark seemed to have bonded again, their every topic of conversation revolved around Clark. Clark this and Clark that and Clark misses you Red, and wouldn't it be great if we were all friends again and on and on.

"As wonderful as it would be to watch you and Clark enjoy each other's company again, I have to say— no." Lex tried to ignore Whit, ignore the finger poking into his ribs and the hot breath on the back of his neck that combined with the humidity was pure torture. He just might have to kill Whit. The garden was big enough, surely there were a dozen spots where he could bury him and no one would ever know….

"Come with us. If I can talk to him so can you. Talk to Clark, Red."

"No." He tried to find his place, struggled to concentrate. 

Whit's chin was on his shoulder now. He whispered, "Talk to Clark, Red." Lex shrugged hard, but Whit's head just brushed his cheek and he settled it on his shoulder again. "Red," Whit whispered into his ear, his lips warm against him. "Talk to him, please." He drew out the 'please' into a long low moan, and went silent and still. 

Jesus. Lex didn't dare move. That last plea went straight to his dick and his ear still vibrated with the feel of it. Fucking Whit, always playing around, treating him as if he were made of plastic, like he couldn't get turned on, like he was a fucking eunuch….

Whit shifted so that he was behind Lex and pressed against him. "Red…" His fingers skated up under the horrible shirt and Lex stiffened. Now would be the time to stop him, right now. He should move. God, he really should move…"Red," Whit breathed again. His fingers splayed out over Lex's ribs and the heat of his skin under the oven-like shirt made sweat run as soon as Whit's hands touched him. It was awful and it was good at the same time. He felt Whit behind him, too hot against him, too much heat pooled at his groin and radiating against Lex's back. Lex wanted desperately to lean into it. He was afraid to move and held himself rigid because he knew one push and he'd give in to Whit, bad idea or not.

He felt defenseless when Whit told him his shirt was too hot and mercifully pulled it off. The breeze moved fitfully against him, momentarily cooling him until Whit's hot fingers rolled over his ribs, pressing into the ridges, sliding between the bones. 

"Red." He pressed his erection against Lex's back and Lex pushed back without thought, a gasp of surprise escaping him. 

"Whitney—what are you doing?" Lex gasped again as Whit's finger's teased his nipples, and swept down across his belly, worming into the waist of his pants.

"Red."

Whit pressed his mouth to the smooth skin of Lex's scalp, dropping kisses down until his mouth was against Lex's jaw, and bit down. Lex jumped and cursed. "That hurt. Stop!" The pain brought him crashing back to reality. "What do you think you're doing? Or is it that Wade's not here so I'll do?" 

_"No!_ No, it's not like that, I—I'm sorry." Whit jumped up and began to walk away from Lex and Lex went after him, grabbed Whit roughly by the arm and swung him around so that they were face to face. 

"What the hell's your deal, Whitney, what's going on with you?"

Whit looked as though he was about to throw up, and tried to back away from Lex, stumbling through the flowerbeds. One part of Lex's mind registered that and wondered if he should let the gardener know, another part told him he knew exactly what Whit was going to say if he let him speak and he was not going to let that happen. He turned away from Whit and nearly ran back to the gazebo, grabbed his damp shirt off the floor. He stood, holding it in his hands and staring at nothing. What was wrong with him that he wanted this? 

And then again, why not? What the hell was he waiting for? Prince Clark to show up and take him away on his white horse? Whit was _here,_ and he was good to him, had always been good to him….

Whit came up behind him. "Sometimes, I feel like whatever I touch turns to shit, Red, and I get scared. But I look at you and I think, you're so beautiful, you and…and I wonder what it would be like, I always have. I know it's always only been Clark for you I know that. He's incredible and he's right for you and I need your friendship, Red, I need it like breathing, and I'm afraid of ruining things but…I still want to touch you, I'm sorry."

Lex whirled and smacked him, and Whit staggered back, clutching his face in surprise. "Shut up," Lex snapped. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know him and you don't know me. You think I'm sitting here waiting for Clark to come back? Fuck him! And fuck you." He started to leave and stopped abruptly, dropped his head and growled. 

"Swear to god, Whit, you try my patience. You make me want to kick your ass; God, do I ever want to beat the shit out of you." His hand were balled into fists, crushing the shirt, and with an enormous act of will, he relaxed them and smoothed the crushed fabric with his fingers. "But I love you anyway. I really don't want to lose you too, you bastard." 

"Really, Red? Does that mean we can be okay someday, someday soon, like right now soon? And please say yes, because I can't live without you. Please." 

Lex turned at the sound of fear and longing in Whit's voice. "Yes, we will be okay. Shit, we are okay… I will try as hard as I can to make it okay, Whit." 

"Then…can I come over there?" Whit asked, pointing at a spot near Lex. Lex nodded and Whit came to stand next to him. He eased the shirt from Lex's hand and turned it around and around in his. 

"I'm so sorry, I'd never put you second to anyone. You know that right? I just can't help myself sometimes." Whit pressed the shirt to his mouth for a moment and said, "You know why I got involved with Wade? When someone needs you that much it can feel like love. Sometimes it makes you feel good, makes you forget, you know? Sometimes you just turn to the person who's there." 

Lex's heart clenched and he knew. He knew in his bones what Whit had done. So what did it make this? A cry for absolution? Or did he just want to round out the friend fuck? He felt completely calm and relaxed as he put his hand gently on the back of Whit's neck, felt sweat and pulled his fingers through it, and watched Whit shiver and his eyes drift shut. Something shifted deep in his chest at that moment, he slid his finger down Whit's neck and watched him, felt the groan rather then heard it and a barely formed thought rolled like oil under the surface of his mind— _I can do anything, he'll let me do anything—_ he trailed a finger over Whit's chest, across a rapidly hardening nipple and almost smiled when Whitney hissed softly—and he thought of Clark and immediately felt sick. He pulled his hand away. Lex forced himself to speak in a calm, even tone. "I know that somewhere in all that bullshit you spit, you really are concerned about Clark and me," Lex said. "So yes, I will try to talk to him but I don't think it will matter. He's hardly going to throw himself on my neck and cry from joy." 

Whitney looked at him with an odd expression on his face. "Oh, he will, Red. You have no idea."

"He turned me down—" he began and stopped. "I'm still hurt about— the fire and — and things." It seemed as though his ability to express himself had deserted him. He felt on the edge of ten, instead of sixteen. 

"So get even," Whit said and grabbed him and kissed him, a hot wet kiss that made every nerve in his body sizzle, and his knees wobbled and he thought that maybe Whit was the Devil, because at this point, stupid, messed up and really awful as it was, he wanted to think that this was a good idea. Whit, with all his talk and wanting to do things right but not, and....

Really, Whit rubbing against his bare chest and nipping and sucking at his mouth was making it hard to think rationally.

Whit crowded him against a tree and pushed lazily against him, a roll of hips against his that had Lex gasping and panting, and his brain was trying to shut down. _No—no_ Lex managed to push Whit back, difficult as that single move was. 

"Whit, for fuck's sake, can you think with something besides your dick for like, five minutes please?" Lex asked, panting and shaking with the force of how fair it wasn't.

"Sorry, Red. Really. "Whit grinned shakily and licked his lips, his eyes trying to focus on something other than Lex's crotch.

"Don't play with me, please. It's not fair." Lex hated that tears rushed into his eyes, and he fought not to let them flow. 

Whit dropped in front of him, "Please Red, just once please? And you—you can call me Clark; I don't care, just—please?" Lex froze, unable to move or speak, he let Whit unzip him and take him out. His dick was hard, had been, and he couldn't believe how different it was when someone else touched you. He shivered and shook as Whit stroked him. 

He managed to gasp "Clark! What about… Why?" And he was mortified that it came out as a wail, and Whit stopped. Leaned his head against his thigh and said, "Because it's truth that you love him, you always have but just for now, I could be him, couldn't I? Clark would touch you like this," and he slowly ran his trembling hand down Lex's dick and it rose into his hand, he clasped his fingers around it. "He'd kiss you, lick you like this," and Whit licked at Lex like he was candy, pressed his lips on the smooth head and kissed it like he was kissing Lex's mouth. "Lex, Lex you taste so good," Whit said, raising his head to capture Lex's eyes.

"Oh god!" Lex nearly screamed and his legs quaked, his muscles quivered and he tried to keep breathing. "I—oh shit, shit, I—"

"I know. You don't have to do anything, just," and Whit slid his dick between his lips, sucked it into his warm mouth, bobbed his head. Lex moaned and yanked up handfuls of his hair and fucked Whit's mouth until he thought he was hurting him and forced himself to stop, thighs jumping and twitching like his dick twitched on Whit's tongue.

He heard the sound of a zipper and felt more than saw Whit was jerking off as he sucked him and Lex's head rolled back against the tree, a sob broke from his throat. Whit let Lex's dick fall from his lips, he was panting so hard Lex could feel his chest heave against his legs and then Whit gasped against his belly, "Say my name, Lex, who am I Lex, tell me please!" 

"Clark! Clark!" Lex screamed the name—his whole body tightened, every nerve was on fire, his dick jerked and spewed come into Whit's mouth and Whit was coming too and it made it even better, more amazing, so fucking amazing.

But the world came rushing back, he felt the tree bark rough against his back, the sun blazing against his eyelids, sweat rolling and dripping down his body, Whit's wet mouth against his skin. He smelled sweet and spice from the flowers they'd crushed, he smelled sweat and himself and earth and for a moment he felt like he was part of everything and Clark was with him, pressing a smile into his belly.

He shivered and looked down at Whit, eyes were closed and the look on his face was nearly angelic, so soft and relaxed, until he opened his eyes and looked into Lex's. "Oh, Red," he started to speak but Lex put his finger on his mouth and shook his head.   
For a few minutes at least, he wanted to pretend that it was perfect and right, and that his first time meant something important.

Whit shook him lightly and he looked down again.

"Red, I love you," Whit looked so worried and so scared. Lex coaxed him up and let him lean into him.

"I love you too, Whit. Don't ever doubt it." 

**JULY**  
Lex sat in the Beanery and sipped at some coffee concoction that Pete swore was delicious and Lana claimed was the best thing ever and he had to say, no. 

They were both wrong. It was god-awful sugary and frothy and he didn't like the way the froth ended up on his nose. He didn't like the way Lana grinned at him and crinkled her own nose when it happened. He was not cute. He was not adorable. He looked up at the sound of the door opening and watched Clark and Whit come in. And that was proof positive he wasn't lovable.

 

He braced himself for the next moment of joy. Clark was going to sit at their table. Nice. 

Of course. 

Because Clark and he had reached an understanding. They'd talked about everything— everything that Clark was willing to tell anyway. And Clark sobbed on his shoulder and swore they'd be friends forever. As far as Clark Jerome Kent was concerned, it was that simple. Everything was fine now. Totally fine. If they were any finer, he'd have to pray for death.

"Lex!" Clark called out, and holding his drink over his head, worked his way through the crowd to the table, Whit following at his back like his personal bodyguard.

"Wow, it's so crowded tonight isn't it?" Clark beamed at everyone and Lana smiled back. 

"So, Clark what brings on this very obvious display of good moodiness?"

"I got paid today! I have money, I'm rich!" He waved a few bills at the friends." I'm working at Johnson's Market for the summer. My folks finally gave in." 

Pete and Lana grinned at each other. Lana leaned in and whispered to Pete, "The poor Kent's. I feel so sorry for them." Pete snickered and Clark mock frowned. "Hey, I heard that! I'm sitting right here, you know."

Pete leaned back. "Well, Clark, we know how you can be sometimes. Not that we don't love you, man." He looked right at Lex when he said that and smiled warmly. Lex smiled back, almost feeling it. It was nice to see Pete relaxed around them again. 

The poor guy had spent so much time dodging about in no-man's land, ferrying messages back and forth between the warring camps. He must be so damn relieved, Lex thought. He smiled at Pete, a more genuine smile this time. Pete was really a hell of a good person, the kind of guy who said he had your back and meant it.

Clark snorted and pointedly turned his head from Pete and ended up staring Lex in the eyes. He looked at him wistfully, and Lex looked down at the table, and tried to drink his mutant coffee. _Leave me alone Clark, damn it._

Whit poked him with a finger. "Hey Lex, we're going to the movie later, want to come?"

He looked at Clark and then at Whit. "You know—not really. I think I'm going to just hang at home tonight, read or something. But thanks anyway."

Clark looked disappointed, but Lex didn't feel up to trying to decipher the true meaning of that look. "I'm going to catch up with you tomorrow," he said and left the table. He heard a chair scrape across the floor, and felt someone behind him. Great. Clark never could take a hint. He really didn't want to talk to him right now. He hoped he wouldn't bring up that incident in his room. They'd done fine avoiding it so far.

~o0o~

The movie had already started by the time they made it to their seats, Pete and Lana left them at their theater before going on to their own, and made plans to meet outside, since Whit was the driver for the evening. 

Nice and safe, Whit thought. Lots of company so neither one of them could give in to temptation. Clark was too willing to be alone with him and of course he understood. Sex was brand new and he wanted to do it all the time and he was probably telling himself that he felt something like love for Whit. Damn. And Whitney knew better. He knew he shouldn't have let it happen. But. It was Clark. And still wrong. He belonged to Red.

Red. God. And he fucked that up too. He was such a fucking slut…it was a miracle that Red still talked to him, but he really blew it this time, he fucked up major.

Shit. He shifted in his seat, his thoughts making him feel uncomfortable, and Clark made a little inquiring noise, and dropped his big hot hand on Whit's leg. Whit immediately glanced around the theater, and thankfully the rows immediately around them were almost empty. He relaxed a little and Clark rubbed his leg in a friendly way. Whit sank a little lower into his seat, and the movement pushed Clark's hand a little higher on his thigh. He slid his hand around to the inside of his leg and squeezed lightly, moving higher with each bit of pressure until the back of his hand was pressed against the bulge in Whit's jeans. Clark's breath was getting heavier and Whit was trying not to make a sound, when Clark's hand closed on his erection and squeezed him through the fabric. It was so innocent in a way. It'd been ages since someone played with him like this, and it made his dick strain against the denim, and Clark was nearly panting. Whit could see that he was hard. Before he could touch him, Clark pressed down on his own dick, and shivered. Whit couldn't keep in the groan that forced its way out of his clenched teeth, that was just so hot…

~o0o~

Clark had been a little on edge since they sat down. Whit was confusing him. He acted like he didn't want to be alone with him anymore, and he couldn't figure out what had happened. Something was off, with Whit and with Lex. Whit and Lex…something had gone on between the two of them, Clark was pretty sure, but he didn't own either of them. He knew Whit, and he hardly thought that he changed overnight. But Lex… 

Whit was staring at the screen and squirming in his seat.

Well, maybe this is too much for Whit. Maybe I want too much. Maybe he thinks I'm asking for something I know he can't give—to me at least. 

He put his hand on Whit's leg and patted him. He wanted to reassure him, let him know he didn't have to do anything if he didn't want to but Whit's leg was so warm and muscular and it felt good to squeeze. And if it felt good there, it probably would feel good higher up…he worked his way up Whit's thigh until he felt the heat and hardness of his dick and pressed the back of his hand hard against it. He could feel Whit pulse—it made his mouth dry and then he got that burning pressure behind his eyes again, they felt dry and hot, and his breath was scraping across his tongue, so dry—he licked his lips, trying to wet them and his eyes really, really felt like they were going to explode. God, Whit was pushing against his hand, so he turned it palm down and gripped him through the denim. He felt him jump and heard Whit groan, and Clark had to grab himself. He shivered and gasped and Whit groaned again—oh! His eyes! There was—

He raised a little in his seat and felt a hot pulse behind his eyes…it felt like a wave of heat ran over the surface of his eyes and then relief, like a breath of cool air over them and he felt like he did after a sneeze or—

There was a popping sound and the screen was on fire. Clark jumped up and accidentally knocked Whit hard to the floor as it happened again, and again—jets of flame were coming out of his eyes! He couldn't stop it! Clark closed his eyes and the feeling lessened, was bearable, and he was so scared by what happened his dick wilted completely, and all he could think was how was he ever going to open his eyes again… and it was over.

Except for the screaming, running patrons and the employees spraying the screen down frantically with extinguishers and Whit, slowly coming up off the floor with a groggy, "Clark what the fuck happened?" 

Clark grabbed him, "Come on Whit, we've got to get out of here!"

They met Pete and Lana outside of the movies. Pete gleefully waved free passes to the movies. "Man, can you believe it! This is great! That flick we went to was a dog! It's like getting paid to watch it!"

"Uhm-hm," Lana smiled, "And all we had to do was nearly fry in a fiery inferno."

They laughed but Clark shivered, paling in horror. It could have gone that way and it would have been his fault. He could have killed his friends and his neighbors and all because he was a freak.

~o0o~

Clark asked Whit to drop him off at the end of the drive and thanked him distractedly. Whit asked if he was okay and he assured him he was and sent him home.

He trudged up the drive, a thousand thoughts on his mind. He needed someone to help him sort this all out and he could only think of one person to help him do it.

~o0o~

"Dad?"

Jonathan looked up from the assortment of garden tools he was cleaning and reached for a rag to wipe oil from his hands. 

"Hey, son. Just cleaning this stuff for your mom. Makes her happy and happy usually involves baking… not that I wouldn't do it just to make her happy," he grinned. "Hand me that file will you?" he reached his hand out to Clark with a smile. 

Clark handed his dad the big metal file, sat on a bench and watched him knock rust off the edge of a garden spade.

"Dad, I need some help. I need to talk about…something that happened tonight, something awful." 

Jonathan looked up sharply at that. "Are you okay, Clark? What happened?"

Clark stared at his hands and tried to keep his voice steady as he spoke. "Dad. This alien thing," he began, ignoring his dad's wince. "I…the running, the strength, I think they're not the only powers I have…tonight—tonight I set the movies on fire—" 

"You what! Clark, what do you mean—how?" Jonathan looked alarmed and came to sit next to him. "Clark, what happened exactly son? Start from the beginning."

"Dad, I noticed before at …certain times my eyes feel…weird. Weird and hot and it happened tonight at the movies and this time it didn't get better, it got worse and suddenly— I shot fire out of my eyes! Dad, I shot fire out of my _eyes!"_ Clark covered his face and shook. Jonathan pulled him close and held his head the way he did when Clark was small. It helped. It helped a lot.

"Clark? My guess? These kinds of things are going to happen. You're getting older and you're changing and we don't know what changes you're going to go through. You got stronger and faster and it seems, healthier as you got older. We've got to expect some changes are going to be…dramatic."

Clark sighed and sat up again. "Yeah. It was pretty dramatic all right." He sighed again and stiffened at his dad's next question.

"Son, did…did anyone see you?"

Clark didn't know why that question made him a little angry, a little disappointed in his dad, but he stuffed the feeling down and answered him. "No Dad, no one saw. I accidentally knocked Whit silly when I jumped out of my seat so he didn't see anything either."

He was silent for a moment and then made a decision. He had too much to hide—he couldn't take on any more secrets. "Dad? I have something else to tell you. The certain times I was talking about? Well…whenever I felt…ah… turned on? It happened."

Jonathan looked surprised and uncomfortable. "Ah. I—I see. So, when you're ah—‘turned on' then. Okay. And at the movies—you met someone there?" he asked and Clark thought he had a very hopeful look on his face, a slight, very slight edge of pleading to his tone.

"No Dad," he replied, and looked steadily into his eyes. "I went with Whit. I didn't meet anyone. Whit and I went together, sat together."

Jonathan stood and paced back and forth, moving his hands from his hair to his neck to his hips to his back until he suddenly seemed to realize that his son was waiting for some sign of—something.

"Dad? Dad, I need you to understand what I'm telling you. I need…" _I need you to keep loving me._

"Clark. Clark," he started, and went on, "You have to work on controlling this new power of yours." He picked up the spade and stabbed it into a bucket of oily sand and stood staring down at it, his lips compressed in a frown.

Clark came to his feet. Okay. He had his answer. Fine. He wasn't going to lie. It was on the table and his dad could do with it what he wanted. "I'm going to talk to mom," he said and moved slowly to the doors. He passed his dad, and his heart hurt when he didn't lift his head to look at him.

He was at the doors when his dad called out." Clark. Wait."

He turned slowly to look at his dad, ready for an argument, ready to let him know, this wasn't something to argue about, like curfew or allowance—or a summer job. This was his life. This was _him._

And Jonathan just said, "I like Whit." He smiled an almost normal smile and continued, "Talk to your mom and later we can go out to the field, maybe see about working on your control."

His heart flooded with relief and he grinned at his dad. "That'd be great, Dad. Great."

Before he could leave his dad asked," Clark, do you need Whit to be there?"

"For what—Dad!" Clark turned bright red and ducked his head as he tried not to laugh or groan. Dad was teasing him. Teasing was a good sign, a very good sign. It was going to be okay. His dad was going to be cool—everything was going to be okay between them.

They grinned at each other.

"It's a perk of being a parent, Clark. You get to embarrass your kids from time to time." 

Jonathan turned his attention back to his work, still faintly smiling and Clark walked out into the sunlit yard.

 

 **AUGUST**  
Whit walked across the street, intent on the comic store and not much else on his mind. Clark had asked him to pick up the current books that were out. And a Warrior Angel for Red. He felt pretty good at the moment. He'd backed out of this thing with Clark…okay, still backing out, but at least Clark seemed to be coming around to the idea that Red really did care for him. And Red was beginning to see that Clark liked him too. Whit snorted. He felt like a matchmaker. His forehead wrinkled a bit as he mused that matchmakers generally didn't screw their clients. He shook his hair off his sticky forehead and sighed.

 

Friggin' summer. Shit. He hated it when it was so hot…he should just go home. He bet that Abigail had some lemonade; maybe she went to the bakery after work, that'd be great. As long as she hadn't baked herself. Man. He smirked to himself. Oh yeah, that'd be a bad thing, all right.

 

A car screeched up the road towards him and he leaped back onto the curb. Who the fuck—

 

Loud laughter rolled out of the open car window and a bottle flew out and shattered on the street in front of him. Assholes, he thought. Yeah, last year, he'd have been in that car. He thought about flipping the jerks off when the car swerved with a screech of tires to the curb, and a guy hung out the window, half of his body out of the window, flailing his arms around and screaming his name over and over," Come here you little shit!"

 

It was Danny, someone he knew through Wade. The guy wasn't going to let up, that was for certain, so he slowly sauntered over and tried to look bored. "Yeah? What's up?"

 

"You heard from Wade? "Danny grinned at Whit, a nasty knowing look.

 

"No." Fuckface. "I haven't, so what?" Whit sneered at the guy and started to walk away. What a pack of morons. He could hear them giggling and laughing, and then Danny yelled out. "He's watching you, faggot!" Whit heard him yell, and more laughter.

Whit turned and grabbed his crotch with one hand and flipped them off with the other, and yelled, "Eat me!" The guys tried to get out of the car, but they were too high, and kept getting in each other's way. Whit yelled out again, "Hey, Danny, your mother sucks, and not as good as your dad!" 

 

He burst out laughing at the scream of outrage that boiled out of the car, and sprinted for the comic store, laughing all the way, he glanced behind him and saw that Danny was out, and trying to run after him but the other guys were hanging off him, keeping him back. _That's right, motherfuckers_ Whit thought. _You never know when Wade might come back._

 

Whit grinned and turned to go into the store.

"Hello, Whitney. How ya doin' boy?"

Whit's knees went weak for a second and he turned. "Wade." 

Wade was looking at him, his eyes flat and blank, his face devoid of expression. "I went to your house to get you. I found out you don't live there anymore. Your dad told me." He balled his fists, drawing Whit's eyes to them, and he noticed his knuckles were rough and red. "So. Living with the Ross', hunh?" He stepped back from Whit and looked him up and down, still expressionless. Whit was about to speak, when Wade smiled.

"Good. They're good people. You look better too." He jerked his head back to the road. "Were those dicks bothering you? They won't now. No one's going to bother you."

A chill swept over Whit—Wade. Just when he was beginning to think he wasn't coming back, here he was. Looking out for him again. Wade put his hand on Whit's shoulder, and pressed down. "I missed you, Whit. Some things changed while I was gone, but that never did. Did you miss me?" He tilted his head and looked at Whitney with interest, like he was examining every reaction, and Whit thought how cold and dead his eyes looked.

"Wade," he said again and it was like magic, like watching life being poured into an empty vessel, his eyes warmed and looked—real, alive again.

"You said that already," he laughed and his teeth gleamed, and his eyes sparkled. He moved to stand next to Whit, and Whit couldn't help but notice how his muscles slid and bunched under his t-shirt as Wade reached into his pocket and pulled out a hard pack of cigarettes. The heat from the brick wall behind him warmed him and made his own muscles feel slippery and loose. He watched Wade light up and draw in deep; Whit leaned against the wall and let the heat fill him. 

Wade tilted his head back to exhale and Whit's eye's followed the line of his throat and Wade turned to him and asked," What's the story with Kent?"

The warm bubble he'd been in burst when Wade asked and he lurched upright. "Kent? What? What thing with Kent? We're friends…."

Wade grinned and his eyes were flat again. He reached over and grabbed the pocket of Whit's denims and jerked him towards him, towards the alley next to the comic shop.

Whit staggered after him and Wade pulled him deeper into the alleyway, and he slammed Whit against the rough brick wall. The smell of the dumpster blocking sight of the street filled his nose for a moment, bitter and metallic and the smell of rot—oranges gone bad and putrid meat, dead things—made him gag, and then Wade was leaning on him.

His breath, smoke and sweet and spicy, swept out against his mouth as he spoke and replaced the odor around them. Whit leaned into him, drawing in the spicy scent of him, and Wade whispered against his neck, "You weren't friends when I left and I hear that you two spend a lot of time together—alone, and that means you're fucking him." He jerked Whit against him hard and startled a grunt out of him. Wade rolled his hips against him and for the first time since seeing him, he felt a stirring of the feeling Wade always brought out of him. Whit's knees spread without thought and Wade laughed softly.

"I don't want you fucking him anymore—no body. Unless I tell you it's okay." He bit down on the tender skin of Whit's neck and shook his head a little, growling. "Be a good boy now, okay, Whit?" he licked against the sensitized skin.

Whit shook all over and nodded. He wished he wasn't as hard as he was and wished he didn't want Wade to touch him…

Wade stepped back. "What are you doing today?" he asked in a perfectly calm, everyday tone of voice and Whit blinked, trying to adjust to the rapid change in mood. It took him a try or two before he could respond in an audible voice.

"I- I'm supposed to help at home. Do yard work and, and stuff."

Wade's eyes flattened out again as he lost interest. "Oh. Okay." He stroked Whit's arm absently, "Can you call me when you have free time? I've got a place, a big place, it's nice…you'll like it," he said, his mood going through another lightning change looking at Whit with an expression Whit found hard to place…wanting, needing… approval? 

Whit looped his arms around Wade. "Sure, as soon as I get a chance, we'll get together."

"Good." He batted Whit's arms away. "Shit. Don't go all girly on me, get off," Wade said and headed back to the mouth of the ally, and Whit followed him, grinning a little. He could tell when Wade was pleased, and Wade glanced back at him with a small smile, the real smile he saw so rarely. It made him feel good. Pretty good.

Walking back out of the alley and into bright sunlight blinded him briefly and then there was a dark shadow in front of him. Before he could understand what was happening, stars went nova in his head and he hit the sidewalk.

Whit swam up out of darkness, confused. Had Wade hit him—but no, he wouldn't, not like that—"Wade!" His hands were wet and something was stabbing them and he was kneeling on glass, and it stank of something sharp and alcoholic.

"I hope your faggot boyfriend's dead," his dad growled in his face, a length of pipe in his hand. "I think I'll finish up with you." He dragged Whit to his feet, pushed him back into the alley. Whit's heart beat fast and felt out of rhythm, he was afraid, so afraid, he wanted to run, drop to the ground. Blood and something that stung his eyes ran down his head.

"Did you think you'd beat me and get away with it, really?" his father growled and the stink of alcohol washed over Whit's face. The man shoved Whit hard against the wall, grabbed a handful of wet hair and slammed his head back. Whit heard a crunch that vibrated through his head, and then pain made his eyes slam shut—pain, exploding in his head like a volcano—

Again and again and he heard his dad calling him a faggot and after a while, it really didn't seem to matter, he heard noise but felt nothing except a rocking motion and he hoped he was going to die soon—it was taking a long time. His dad opened his mouth, wide open and maybe he was screaming, but he couldn't hear it, and then he dropped to the ground. Stayed there, and Wade was standing there, swaying back and forth and blood masked his face. 

His dad lay on the ground. 

Wade looked at him in horror, "You okay?" he gasped out, and spit blood. He grabbed Whit's arm, asked again. "You okay? Because we have to move…" he bent down and picked up the pipe. Wade looked up and winced at the wall, Whit turned his head too look as well. Some blood and hair were pasted there.

His dad lay on the ground.

"Whit, come on!" Wade pulled his arm again. "They'll think he was drunk out of his mind, staggered in here to die. They'll think he had a heart attack—let's go damn it!" He raced to the other end of the alley pulling Whit with him. When they got out to the other side and sunlight flooded his eyes again, he grabbed Wades arm. "I-I think my dad is dead!" he looked into Wade's eyes and felt lost—free-floating and never going to find his way back to the ground.

"Yeah, Whit. Your dad is dead. Nothing bad is ever coming from that motherfucker again…I told him not to fuck with you anymore," Wade muttered," Told him…" He knelt quickly and shoved the pipe into a storm drain.

"There. We need to get cleaned up. There's a bar down this block, we can go in the back way…." Whit was staring at him, not really seeing him. His dad was dead. His dad was trying to kill him. He was dead. He was dead and Whit was alive. Whit doubled over and began crying, loud hacking sobs and Wade grabbed him, eased him to the ground and sat in the dirty alley and held Whit as he screamed into his chest.

~o0o~

Saturday afternoon, and Clark was just getting in from his job at Johnson's Market. The owners had kept him on, and he worked a few days after school, and on Saturday afternoons.

He felt dirty and sticky and couldn't wait to take a nice cool shower. He parked the old truck in one corner of the yard and noticed his folks were out. Good. That meant he could have music blasting loud enough to hear in the shower and eat whatever he wanted and right now he wanted peanut butter out of the jar. He wandered into the kitchen and turned up the radio loud and pulled off his sticky tee shirt. He crammed the tail of the shirt into a lumpy mass of material in his back pocket and pulled the jar out of the pantry and was just sticking a peanut butter laden spoon in his mouth when he heard a cough.

"Umf!" he jumped and stuck himself in the back of the throat and whipped around. "Lex!" 

Lex grinned at him, and reached out, turned down the radio. "Well, Clark, you look surprised to see me, and I don't know why. Aren't we supposed to go to Pete's today?"

Lex sauntered across the kitchen and Clark tried not to stare. It was getting worse. Every time Lex was around, his brain started to melt. 

Clark wiped his hand against his chest, forgetting he'd taken off his shirt, and Lex gestured at him, blank faced and his voice distant. "You've got—stuff on your chest." 

"Oh!" Clark looked down and blushed. Yeah, that looked nasty. No wonder Lex was wincing. He wiped up the peanut butter with a finger and popped it into his mouth, sucking the spread off and licking his finger as he pulled it out of his mouth. He caught sight of the look on Lex's face and decided he'd embarrassed himself enough. He must have looked like a dumb kid doing that. "Thanks—even though I've got to take a shower anyway." he grinned shamefaced at Lex and left the kitchen. "There's juice in the fridge, and there's fruit on the counter, I'll be back in a minute."

~o0o~

Lex let out a long shaky breath and squirmed in his seat. He‘d really been afraid he was going to pass out when Clark licked that peanut butter off his chest. He'd actually felt faint for a moment. How in the hell could Clark have no idea of his effect on other people? He was like some pornographic fantasy come to life. Lex shifted again, and thought about the powder room. His dick was not losing interest and he was as close as he was ever going to get to Clark again….

He got up and walked quickly to the small bathroom under the stairs, closed and locked the door. It was yellow and bright and full of Martha's touches, colorful towels in a galvanized bucket, cute little framed photos on the wall, and he was so going to hell. He groaned out loud as he eased his pants down. He cradled himself and thought about Clark and peanut butter. Another groan worked its way past his lips, and he slid his fingers up and down his twitching dick.

Clark, licking peanut butter, licking his fingers, sucking his fingers, on his knees sucking him—oh! A wave of heat swept over him, and his legs trembled—he was upstairs in the bathroom with Clark, watching him in the in the shower, Clark was jerking himself, slow even pulls and licking his lips, watching his own hand move over his dick, the purple head sliding through his fist, now gasping a little, moving faster now—

Lex's hips pumped, his dick jerked hard and come plopped into the toilet and ran out over his fingers as he bit down hard on his hand and electricity flashed through his body. His back hit the wall and he struggled not to pant too loud. Fuck—he'd just jerked off in Clark's bathroom. He felt giddy, relaxed for a moment, a grin lazily rolling over his lips and then reality hit—he'd just jerked off in Clark's mother's bathroom! He jumped upright, burning with guilt as he grabbed a handful of tissue and hastily cleaned himself, zipped up quickly and tried not to run back into the kitchen. 

He waited outside the door until his breathing slowed back to normal and casually walked back in. Clark was already at the kitchen counter, wet hair hanging down over his eyes, and he blushed red when he saw Lex. "Ah, uhm. Ready to go, Lex? "

Lex tried to speak—Clark had obviously raced through his shower, his hair was dripping and large wet areas splotched his shirt, and he looked as if he hadn't dried off at all. Water ran down his neck and Lex twitched with the desire to lick it off. Pull yourself together, he told himself sternly. "Uhm." Lex nodded. He honestly hoped he'd survive the ride to Pete's.

Before they could make a move, a knock came at the door, and they heard a car pulling away. They turned to look and there was Whit, leaning up against the screen door and he looked like death.  
Lex made it from the hallway to the door before Clark could even think to move, pulling Whit in and pushing him down into a chair. "Whit! What the fuck happened! Who did this to you…I'll kill the motherfucker who did this!" He whipped his head up to look at Clark. Lex's eyes burned with fury and Clark shivered— for a moment he wanted to see it, wanted to watch Lex destroy whoever did this, and then he shook himself back to reality.

Whit's head rolled back and he asked for water, Lex jerked his head at the fridge and Clark jumped to get Whit water. 

"Dad…" Whit grabbed the glass of water from Clark and drank it quickly down. "Dad's dead," he gasped and pulled loose from Lex, ran to the sink. Clark patted his back as he threw up and looked at Lex in horror. He was speechless. Mr. Fordman was dead? God, did Whit kill him? That bastard hadn't even spoken to Whit, never sought him out since Whit moved in with the Rosses. As far as Clark could tell, the man acted like he didn't even have a son.

Lex leaned on the counter edge next to Whit, rubbing his hand slowly over his shoulder.

"Whit," he said quietly." Did you do it? Did your father make you kill him?" Lex pushed his chin up gently till Whit was looking in his face. He shook his head no, and winced.

Clark felt over his scalp, he had a large lump and there was dried blood crusting his scalp and pasting his hair down in spots, but it looked like it had been mostly cleaned and he smelt some kind of antiseptic so someone had tried to take care of the injury.

"Come on," Lex said to Clark." Get your arm under him and we'll take him to your room…or the fortress?" 

"My room," Clark replied and picked Whit up, and carried him up the stairs, Lex following behind.

~o0o~

Whit was on the bed, grunting whenever a flash of pain ripped through him, Clark could tell by the twist of his face when it hit. He pressed Whit back when he tried to get up. Lex stood at the side of the bed, worried and scared now that his fury had drained. He looked worn out as he asked Clark if they should let him sleep. "They don't on TV. Isn't that what they always say? Keep them up?"

Whit snorted. "I'm fine, I just have this killer headache…" he groaned and frowned, and sat upright. Clark immediately sat on the edge of the bed to block Whit from trying to get up.  
Lex sat on the other end and fixed Whit with a steely look. "What the fuck happened—shut up," he growled at Clark when he wanted to protest his tone of voice, "I know when to baby this asshole and when to get serious with him. Spill."

"He had a heart attack. Wade said he had a heart attack—"

"Wait-wait—what the fuck! Wade? He's back?"

Clark froze and for a moment had to fight the desire to knock Whit out again. Wade? Wade? Shit. That was all they needed. And he didn't even tell them he was back—

"I didn't know," he whispered, staring into Clark's eyes, "I didn't know, he was just – there and then my dad was there, and I think Wade made him mad—he was looking for him, I think he hit my dad and I think my dad tried to kill him—a-and me, I think—" Whit shivered all over again, his teeth chattering. He jerked and twitched he was shivering so hard.

There was nothing either boy could say to Whit, no denial they could give. Whit looked like he'd lost a fight with a truck. And then Wade propped him up against the screen door and ran?

"Where's Wade?" Whit asked and Lex ground his teeth before replying, "He left you here. Left you on the porch." 

Whit nodded and said, "He was worried about me. He didn't want me to get in trouble with the Rosses." He leaned back against the headboard of Clark's bed and sighed, loosened a little. Didn't shiver quite so hard. Lex started to get up and Whit's hand shot out and held his wrist. "Please don't leave," he asked and a wave of slow tremors swept over him and his teeth chattered again.

Clark sighed and also began to stand up and Whit squeezed his eyes shut and said, "Please can the both of you stay? I-I'm a little freaked out, I really kind of need you." He pulled gently on Lex's wrist and Lex sat. Clark grabbed the quilt folded at the foot of the bed, scooted up behind Whit and draped it over him. He glanced at Lex, and pulled Whit against his chest.

Lex got onto the bed and leaned his back against the wall, his legs hanging out over the floor. "Tell me something Clark, how in the hell do you sleep in this tiny bed? It must be torture." 

"Not really, I kind of sleep in a ball, so it's not that bad," he whispered as Whit's eyes fluttered closed. Lex lifted Wit's legs over his own and re-covered them with the quilt. He petted his legs as Clark petted his chest and Whit sighed a deep sigh of contentment. He snuggled down against the two and was asleep in seconds. 

Lex looked at Clark, asked, "It's too much to hope you have the remote control for your TV near, isn't it?" 

Clark grinned at him, "Sorry. Wasn't thinking we might become pillows for Whit," and threw an edge of the quilt to Lex. "Bundle up, we might be here a while." 

Lex groaned and sank down a bit more as he tried to get comfortable and still maintain contact with Whit. He was easing into sleep when he thought he heard a quiet question float into the air above him.

"Why?" and silence. 

Lex smiled to himself. He knew the answer to that one, it was the dream he had the most, and he always answered the same, "Because you didn't want me." And like every time he had the dream he sank deeper into blackness, no voices, no pictures, and he slept wonderfully and well.

~o0o~

Whit woke and groaned. His head pounded and his mouth was dry, tasted awful. He heard a cough and looked to see Mrs. Kent peeking in the doorway. She smiled and waved and he grinned back. 

"Need some help, Whitney?" she asked softly and came into the room. 

"Mm-hmm. I'm trapped." Clark and Lex lay nearly on top of him, and they were all twisted into the quilt. 

Martha shook Clark until he stirred. "Whaat," he moaned. "Did I miss the bus?" He tried to roll over and snorted when he realized the bed was full. He turned bleary eyes on Lex and smiled groggily. "Oh…Lex. I thought I was dreaming." He reached out and stroked Lex's head, and Martha coughed a little.

"Sweetie, can you get off of Whitney?"

"Oh! Oh! Sorry, I-I forgot!" He struggled out of the blankets and off the bed, dragging Lex awake and out with him. Lex stood at the side of the bed, blinking at Martha and looking around as if he'd never seen the room before. His eyes landed on Whitney and darted to Martha.

"Ah. Did—did we sleep all day?" 

Martha laughed. "No, we just got back from the market—Whitney!" She came closer and saw that Whit was bruised and scraped, dried blood on his t-shirt and hair. "What happened! Did you get in a fight! Oh, Whitney…" 

Clark interrupted. "Mom, his dad did that." 

Martha gasped and grabbed Whit by his shoulders. "We're calling the police. No way is he going to get away with that." 

She looked so fierce that Whit tried to pull back from her. He grimaced and said hoarsely, "He's dead. I… think he had a heart attack."

"Good." Her eyes went round at her own response and she slapped her hand over her mouth, horrified at herself. "Oh my god, I didn't mean to say that, that was wrong, I'm sorry."

Whitney looked at her in amazement. "No. Why be sorry? It's true. I'm glad he's dead. I'm not gonna pretend like I'm not." He scowled fiercely, but his eyes were red, and his mouth twisted until he bit his lip. Martha moved so her arms slid around him loosely until he relaxed into her and she tightened her hold. 

Jonathan called up the stairs, "Martha! Abigail Ross just called. They're coming over. Whitney's here, right?"

She called back, "Yes, Jonathan he's here." She bent Whit's head gently forward to kiss the top of his head and let him go. "Clean up, honey, and come downstairs, ok?"

~o0o~

By the time the boys came downstairs the Rosses were in the kitchen, and everyone looked unhappy.

Abigail looked up and shook her head, sighed when she saw Whitney, and Bill frowned. The whole tense scene was so at odds with the cheery kitchen, Abigail thought to herself. It made the situation seem unreal. She supposed in some way the worst was over but a part of her heart told her that just wasn't so. She looked towards Martha and warmed at the look full of concern she gave her. 

Martha was so lucky. She had one boy, and that boy was just about an angel. Not that she'd give up a one of her children, but Lord knew, they could try the patience of a saint. Her children were good, or at least, wanted to be good, she knew this in her heart. She looked at Whitney and prayed for strength. Lord help her, she was about to be going through this stuff all over again, this time with Whit. She sighed again, and caught Bill looking at her. He nodded slightly, and smiled ruefully. It was what it was, she thought. They had survived that one knucklehead; they could survive this one too. Bill smiled as if he read her mind, and looked at Whitney again.  
"Whitney, did—that—that man do this to you?"

"It looks a lot worse than it is, trust me. "He tried to smile at them, but his face crumbled and her heart went out to him. She stood and put an arm around him and gave him a little hug.

"That woman called. She told us he was dead. Martha told us what he did to you. Whitney, honey, I want to know why the police didn't call to tell us that your dad beat you, that he died beating you." 

"Nobody saw—when he fell down, I ran. He looked—dead. I panicked and ran. That's all there is. I swear, Mom Ross, that's it." He looked down and when she tried to raise his head, he avoided her eyes.

"You were alone? Are you sure? No one was with you, Whitney?" Abigail looked suspicious. She knew the boy was lying…covering something up. Her instincts told her a lot more went on than the boy was saying, but she knew from experience she was getting nothing else from him. Bill came around and put his hand on his shoulder. 

"Come on boy. Let's get you looked at." 

Whit shook his head, "No. I'm fine really—" 

Abigail grabbed her purse." Boy, don't be stupid! We need to get you checked out—though God knows your head is hard as a brick," she blustered, but worry for his physical condition softened her tone and she stroked his arm briefly before herding Bill and Whitney towards the door. She paused at the threshold and turned toward the Kents.

"Martha, thank you so much for taking care of this fool. I don't know what we'd do without you two to help." 

"Abigail, Bill, our house is always open to your boys, you know that." 

Abigail could see the truth of it on both their faces and she smiled back. On impulse, Martha hugged her, and Abigail was surprised and then hugged her back fiercely. "Thank you," she whispered.

"My pleasure," Martha whispered back. "Don't worry; everything is going to be fine, you'll see."

Abigail closed her eyes and prayed that Martha was right—and that Whitney would be okay in spirit as well as body.

After the Rosses had left, Martha turned to Lex and Clark, sitting on the stairs together. She looked hard at the two, her forehead creased slightly and then she asked, "Lex, are you staying to dinner, hon?"

He shook his head and then nodded as Clark nudged him. "Yes, ma'am I think so, if it's okay." 

"Of course, always okay for you to stay, you don't need an invitation." She smiled at them and went back into the kitchen.

Lex gave Clark an inquiring look, and Clark sighed and shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea how she did it but she did…she just knew and so did he. It was time to talk to Lex, past time. "Come with me. We need to talk. I mean please follow me, can we talk?"

Lex had to grin. "Sure. And I'm following you to…?" He leaned back on his elbows and watched Clark squirm.

"The fortress?"

Lex frowned. The fortress. He was pretty sure that's where Whit—where it happened. "Of course," he said shortly. "Lead the way, Clark."


	5. Chapter 5

The fortress looked different to Lex. Even with the doors open if felt darker, smaller. He looked around warily as though ghosts were going to leap out at him from the shadows. Clark led them over to the couch and they sat and Clark began to speak.

"You know Whit and I have decided not to see each other anymore. Like …that, I mean." 

Lex affected a look of mild interest, and briefly contemplated making Clark describe in detail what "that" meant…"Well, that's nice Clark, but wouldn't it be more accurate to say that he dumped you?"

"No! Besides he lost interest after you jumped in there too, with your slinking around behind my back—"

 _"What?"_

Clark leaped to his feet. "Come on, it's not like I don't know you two were having sex, you know!"

"Oh please!" Lex snapped. "I'm the last person you should blame for Whit and his behavior. And let me congratulate you on the little game you two played." He stood and slowly clapped his hands. "Bravo. It was quite impressive. Did you want to see who could get me to give in? You lost your nerve but Whit didn't, is that it? Is that why you're angry now, you sure didn't care when you left me on the floor of my room!"

Clark paled and gaped at Lex. He looked ill. Lex continued, "Look, I know what this is about. Don't bother trying to torture me. I'm so much better at it than you could ever be. Good-bye Clark."

He moved towards the stairs and Clark stopped him, picked him up and dumped him on the couch ."No, Lex—goddamit, this is not how it's supposed to go! Shut up and really listen to me for fucking once!"

Lex was shocked at the ease with which Clark picked him up, that Clark _cursed,_ and let himself fall back against the couch. Clark dropped to the floor in front of Lex. "Lex—I want to tell you something, it's important, okay?"

Lex nodded and steeled himself for the usual hash of truth and lies and self-justification Clark handed out like prizes. He would let him puke this stuff up and then he could leave, and this time swear to god, he was never coming back. Sharp pain lanced through his chest and he winced—he was lying to himself. He'd come back again and again until he couldn't move anymore because he was a fucking idiot and Clark was in his soul, his blood—he loved this idiot, and it was going to kill him.

"Lex, I've felt connected to you since I first saw you, standing in front of the class all hunched over with your hair hanging in your eyes and you were so skinny and so…so sad. Sadness just poured off of you. And I needed to fix it, I wanted to fix it. It was all I could think about, every day I thought about how I could help you and then you were gone and I missed you so much. I thought I'd never see you again, and then one day you were back. I was so happy. All I wanted was for things to go back the way they were—stupid wish I know. Things change, people change…" 

Lex stared at Clark. This was going to hurt even more than he thought. Fuck. He pressed his lips together and concentrated on what Clark was saying.

"Horrible things happened. And you thought I didn't care anymore, and I thought I'd killed our friendship, and then Whit…

Lex grimaced. Whit. Whit who loved everybody a little too much. Clark blushed and pushed on. 

"Okay, so you and I talked. No, actually I talked and you nodded and said all the right things at the right times and swore all was forgiven. Bu-bullshit. Everything is still there like a big old...boil. It hurts, but we just keep shoving it down and shoving it down and it's coming to a head, a big, ugly, pus-filled greasy head…" 

Lex looked pained and held his hand up. "Clark, do you mind if we just dispense with the boil analogy? I'm getting queasy and you're enjoying it too much." 

Clark grinned for a moment and nodded. "So," he sat on the couch next to Lex and asked," What do you really think? About everything I mean."

Lex blinked, and blinked again. What did he really think? About everything? Jesus. 

Clark was going to let him talk now. Or was this more Clarkspeak, where 'what do you think' really meant 'listen to me tell you what you think.' Yes, and war is peace and freedom is slavery and ignorance is strength…Lex rolled his shoulders and thought for a moment. "Well. Well. Let me see—you're the biggest ass-hole of all time. You treated me like shit in the fire and then you teased me to death and left me hanging, feeling like an idiot who believed his friend was maybe more. I don't know what happened that night, but I just about consoled myself with thinking it wasn't me, it was some kind of straight guy panic until I realized it was Whit that did it for you. And then you kept on doing it, asking me to hang out with you guys so you could grind my face into it, and now, Whit dumps you so you're going for second best…" 

"No!" Clark yelled, startling Lex into silence. Clark looked a little startled himself, "I—I'm sorry, that came out a lot louder than I meant it to, but anyway, _no."_ He paused and looked thoughtful, continued, "I'm not so sure about being the biggest ass-hole of all time. That's debatable, but I am the worst friend, the stupidest friend ever. I only want to make it up to you. I hope you'll let me prove to you I can be the kind of friend you want me to be, Lex. You know that your friendship means everything to me. Please let me show you how important it is."

Lex heard friend, friend, friend. He nodded and thought, _friend my ass. Of course you felt a connection to me, you idiot. You love me. I'll let you prove what kind of friend you want to be all right, and by the time I'm done with you you'll be begging for more. I know what you want, Clark Kent. Now it's just a matter of getting you to realize it._ Lex looked into the hopeful face of the boy sitting next to him, wringing his big hands together and smiling shyly and sighed to himself.

God, he had his work cut out for him…

~o0o~

It was nearing the end of the summer and with a few days remaining before school started again they were trying to be especially lazy…with the exception of Lex, who had a pile of printouts, brochures and letters from different colleges spread out on the floor of the Ross' TV room.

Mrs. Ross came into the room and asked sweetly, "Lex, hon, what are you doing, what's that you have there?" and her voice rose sharply on the last few words and she fixed the other boys with a steely glare. "It looks to me like college information, is that what it is, sweetie?" She continued and stared even harder and Clark ducked slightly, not entirely sure that Mrs. Ross couldn't shoot flame from her eyes too. 

Her dark brown eyes snapped as she stared at her son, who in turn looked at Lex like he could cheerfully kick his ass down the drive, and when Abigail turned away, mouthed, "Dead man sitting." at Lex. He grinned back and then Mrs. Ross turned to him and said, "Lex, honey why don't you bring that in the kitchen with you…I just made some cookies and we can have those with some milk, look at your brochures—does that sound good to you?" She beamed at him with the air of having presented him a great gift, and he gave her a weak little smile back. 

"Oh, gosh, Mrs. Ross, that sounds… great." He gathered up his material without looking at the other boys, who were struggling not to laugh, faces red and eyes desperate over tightly clenched lips. Lex left the room, subtly rubbing the back of his head with middle finger extended.

Pete was the first to crack, laughing hard as he fell against Whit, who grinned from ear to ear at Clark, who was snickering quietly because Mrs. Ross was not going to hear Clark laughing if he could help it. Thank god he wasn't offered cookies too…poor Lex.

There was a loud bang at the front door and a voice called out," Ma!" and thumps vibrated in the foyer as bags hit the floor.

"Oh, cool, bruh's home," Pete exclaimed in surprise. He jumped up and ran for the door.

Whit looked up sharply, also surprised. "Sam's home?" Sam was coming home and didn't tell him? He usually called to let everyone know he was coming.

"Nah, that's Mike. He hasn't been home in forever!" Pete dashed out the room and when Whit heard the voice again he realized yes, it was Mike, the two sounded so similar that it was easy to make a mistake. 

Clark stood. "I guess I should head home so everyone can get re-acquainted. It's been a long time since Mike's been home." 

Whit got up to walk Clark to the front door and Pete called them into the kitchen.

"Whit, you're not going to believe this," Pete crowed. "Sam's getting married!"

Whit looked ill for a second before he managed to squeak out, "Great! That's …just great."

Mrs. Ross batted at Pete's arm. "Pete! That's no way to deliver news." She held the phone in her hand, looking at it like it was a snake, and sighed. "I never would have believed you, Mike, unless I heard from this fool himself." 

Mike shrugged and went rummaging about in the refrigerator for soda.

"Mike, don't leave the fridge open, you'll let all the cold out." But it came out automatically, in a distracted way; she seemed not to be pleased at all. 

Mike rolled his eyes. "Ma, please. I'm a grown a-"

"Boy, don't finish that statement if you want to walk out of this kitchen without help. Well. Let me find Bill. We need to talk about this situation."

She got up and left the room and Mike waited a bit before saying, "Ass. I'm a grown ass man."

Pete burst into laughter, and Clark and Lex grinned at each other. Lex got up and quickly buried the cookie he'd been nibbling on deep in the garbage and let out a little sigh of relief. He came around the table and leaned his elbows on the back of the chair Clark was sitting in, and it made Clark vibrate with happiness. He sighed deep in his chest. Lex was slowly treating him the way he used to, the free and easy way they used to have… 

Pete was questioning Mike; Clark caught him asking, "Why doesn't Mom like Sheryl? What's wrong with her? She seemed okay the times I saw her. She's built like whoa, anyway." Pete laughed. 

Mike got up and went to the window over the sink, pushed away the curtains and looked out to make sure Abigail was in the back yard at the garage talking to Bill. She was back there, and Clark could see her waving her arms wildly and it looked as though Mr. Ross was leaning back a bit. Mike turned to the boys and said, "Ma thinks the wife-to-be's a stuck-up booshie bitch." He grinned and grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter and bit down with a satisfied crunch, enjoying the reaction of the shocked boys. 

Whit yelped, "She did not say that!" echoed by Pete yelling "No way Mom said bitch!"

Mike nodded, his eyes sparkling with laughter.

Lex whistled. "She really doesn't like her! Did she say that to Sam?" 

Whit whirled around, and gaped at Mike. "Of course not. Wait! Did she?" At Mike's affirmative nod, another rush of comments rang out, and then silence.

Mike looked like he'd swallowed his apple whole and Clark could feel icy waves at his back.

They were screwed.

"If you people don't have anything better to do then gossip, I'm sure we can find something for you. Bill?"

"You heard your mother. Go find something to do. Grown folks need to talk here." The boys, with the exception of Mike leaped to their feet to dash out, Bill looking at them with a sympathetic wince over Abbie's head. She barely even looked at Mike before she sat down at the big oak farmhouse table, "We said grown up talk, boy." 

Mike leaped up to join the exodus to the back yard and the basketball hoop. He cast a dark look at his father and Bill just shrugged and did his best to look innocent.

~o0o~

The boys tossed the ball around a bit, but no one was really very interested in playing ball in the stifling heat, and eventually they ended up around the bench.

Pete asked his brother again about Sam and his fiancé, but Mike silenced him. "Look, Sam's coming out to talk to the folks tomorrow, and Matt's gonna be here tonight and Kat's coming home too, and we'll all talk to Ma and get it sorted. Sam says he doesn't want to start out married life without Ma's blessing. You know, he's all Rodney King with this."

Pete persisted, and asked Mike what he thought of Sheryl the fiancée. Mike looked at Whit's pained expression and said thoughtfully, "I think she's a bitch. I think she's looking for a good catch. Dad's a lawyer, Ma's a judge and Sam's an up and coming advertising someday-soon-to-be-exec." He paused, went on, "And he's light. That still matters to some people." And he said it like a curse.

He stood and headed back towards the house. "You boys behave your selves. I'm going back in with the grown folks."

Pete snorted quietly and whispered, "If Abigail will let him…."

They snickered together a bit over that and then Whit stood and yawned. "I'm a little tired. It must be the heat, think I'll go inside, grab a nap."

Lex and Clark stood, and Lex started to ask if he could use the phone to call for a ride, and Whit interrupted him. "You walking Clark back to his house? Or what?" he said in an off-hand manner, and Lex looked in Clark's direction, back at Whit and smiled.

Whit nodded. "Right. See you guys tomorrow, then?" And that was that, they went their separate ways.

Later that evening the re-united Ross siblings were gathered on the porch and discussing the coming disaster that Sam insisted they be home for. Kathy looked over at her brothers and smirked. "She's fine, there's nothing wrong with the woman. Sam and Sheryl will do just fine together. She's got ambition and drive and that'll help Sam in the long run. You just don't like her because she doesn't like you!" She sat back on the swing seat and folded her arms. 

Pete looked at his brothers, Matt, tall, coca brown and serious, always so serious. Pete felt like he hardly knew him, he was nearly grown when Pete was born. Mike was a little more like Sam, easier to laugh, not quite as serious as Matthew. And though he and Sam sounded so much alike no one could tell them apart on the phone, they looked nothing alike. Mike was shorter than Sam and Matt, darker than either one of them and had a blinding smile that he used to advantage. He was a charmer, and kept his mother on her toes.

Kathy looked more like Pete than any of the others. She was shorter than any of them and tended to be, in Mike's words, a little stuck on herself. She was absently kind to Pete but not much involved in her brothers' lives. She planned on going to med school, and Pete wished her future patients good luck. 

They chatted on for a while and then Kathy asked Pete, "Where's Whitney?"

Pete looked at her in bewilderment. Where was Whit? She was right, he usually hung out with them when they were all together like this, and since Wade disappeared, he tended to stick around a lot more…where the hell was he? Pete got up, "I'll go look in his room." He walked around the porch swing and headed towards the door.

Kathy said "Hold up, come on back to the garage with me and help me get these coolers out, I promised Mother I'd clean them out for the barbeque Sunday." Pete nodded and thought he might as well pull the charcoal out while he was at it; Dad was going to make him do it tomorrow anyway. 

They passed a stand of lilac bushes on the path to the garage and Pete thought he heard a noise, heard it again, a low moan, a cough, something…Pete groaned to himself. Please God, don't let it be what he thought it was and then it came again, definitely a moan, and this time Kathy heard it too. Shit.

"Pete, did you hear that?"

Pete shook his head no, and tried to keep walking, but Kathy grabbed his arm, stopping him. Again a moan. And Kathy briskly walked to the bushes and bent down. "Oh for…Whitney. What are you doing in there? Come out this instant!"

Pete rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. Great. Whit was drunk—he hoped to God he was drunk anyway. Why now? He's been so good for so long…Wade. It was probably Wade, the jerk was probably back and pulling him right back down again.

Kathy had been trying to coax Whit out and not getting very far. She looked up at Pete, frustrated and getting to the end of her short fuse. "Go get those boys and tell them to pull this fool out from under there." 

"Don't say anything to Mom, Kathy—please!"

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "I'm not even going to reply to that! Go!"

Pete ran off to get his brothers and he could hear Kathy still trying to get Whit to come out. He hustled his brothers back, Mike grinning and Matt scowling.

Matt sank to his knees by the bushes and frowning, tried to coax Whit out also, wasting time on logic before frustration took over. "Whitney. Get out of there, before I pull you out." He looked up at Pete, "Go in there and get this darn fool out of there, now."

Pete's jaw dropped as he stared at his brother. "Hell, no, he bites when he's messed up!"

Matt looked scandalized and Mike collapsed into laughter. Matt came to his feet, and brushed off his pants, checked to see the crease was still knife sharp. "Well. It seems someone thinks they're grown. You handle it then." Before leaving he spoke at the bushes,"You disappoint me, you know."

Out of the bushes wobbled a breathy, "Fuck you."

Mike and Pete laughed again as Matt swung on his heel and stalked off.

Pete gasped for breath and looked at Mike, "Okay, Mike, your turn." He yelled into the bush, "Because next up is Abbie!"

Mike shrugged his shoulders and cracked his neck like he was about to jump in the ring. "Negro! Get out here now!" The bush giggled and rustled, and groaned and fell quiet. "Go on up to the house, Pete." Mike said. "I'll get this fool out. Go ahead."

Pete left reluctantly, and when he was sure he was gone, Mike sat down next to the bush and began to speak, low and soothing. 

"You know, I don't know how it is that everyone's missing it. I felt pretty bad for you this afternoon. But this ain't helpin'. It's stupid. You gonna stay drunk the whole time he's here? Plus Ma will come out here and drag your drunk ass out from these bushes, she'll beat you for messin' up her lilacs."

A big shaky inhalation burst from the bushes and Mike hastened to add, "I'm kidding! Kidding! Ma would never lay a hand on you; no body in this family would, you know that. C'mon," and he cheated, he pitched his voice to sound exactly like Sam's. "Come out so I can talk to you."

Silence and then the bushes rattled and Whit scooted out ass first, covered with dirt and his hair full of crushed leaves. He rolled over and stared at Mike, and his face was so miserable that Mike's heart went out to the little kid. There were tracks through the dirt on his face where tears had rolled down and he looked all of five years old. Mike reached out for him and pulled him in. "Let's go in the house, you disgusting mess, get you cleaned up, ok?" Whit nodded, and Mike said, "Look, I'm not trying to upset you, but you know it's not going to happen, right? And listen, you're going to grow out of this anyway. It's just a phase. I've seen it before, trust me." 

 

Whit shrugged his arm off and staggered to the side, crashed back into the bushes and threw up violently. Mike jumped to the side. "Fuck! Warn a brother, goddamnit!" He checked to make sure he didn't get splashed and then grabbed Whit, who was slowly circling the lawn.

"Sam, Sam, you don't understand…not a phase…." 

Whit stopped and gagged a bit as Mike held him gingerly by the shoulders, pointed away from him. "Umm-hmm. Say, can we finish this inside—in the bathroom? And maybe you might want some privacy so you can, you know— clean up when we get in there?"

Whit nodded and let himself be lead to the house. "Where's Pete?" 

"In the house, waiting for you in the bathroom."

"Oh. Okay. Where's' Sam?" 

"He's coming, he'll be here soon."

"Oh, Okay. I hate Sher—Sheer—that bitsch."

"Yeah, me too kid, me too."

"Where's Sham?"

"Man, Negro, what the hell were you drinking? You smell…aw, don't cry, shit!"

~o0o~

The next morning brought no relief. The tension was thick in the air, Kathy and Abigail were painfully polite to each other, Bill left as soon as was polite, claiming he had desperate need of charcoal and thanked Pete under his breath for hiding the bags they had. Pete grinned at his Dad, and thanked god again that no one had yet noticed that Whit was sick as a dog and still in bed. Or rather, that Mom hadn't noticed. He could hear Matt quietly and firmly saying something, which was his equivalent of yelling.

"Mother, you need to listen to Kathy. Sheryl will make an excellent addition to the family. Her people are lawyers too, so you do have a lot in common with them, they're in a prestigious firm in Metropolis. Her family has contacts that will help Samuel in the future."

Pete rolled his eyes. What happened to those two? Why can't t they be more like the rest of us? He shook his head and went to check on Whit.

 

Whit was miserable and sick and laying under the blankets. His drapes were drawn and a pillow was over his face. Pete reached down and yanked the pillow off," Eww! You look like shit! Damn, maybe you died last night and your body doesn't know it yet?"

"Thanks for your sympathy, Pete. I can die happy now, knowing you care…" Whit rolled over to his belly and groaned; only partially exaggerating. He tried to pull the blanket over his head, but Pete wouldn't let him. 

"Serves you right. Come on, Sam's going to be here in a bit, and you need to get fresh sheets on the bed and get your ass out of here." He pulled on the sheets untilWhit finally staggered to his feet and glared at him as he made his way out to the hallway.

"Clean up, and brush your teeth! Something crawled in your mouth and shi-died. Hi Mom." 

"Where's Whitney," she asked and her eyes said don't play with me, and Pete pointed down the hall, and backed into the room.

Whit came back into the room a few minutes later, looking paler if that was even possible than he had before. He dropped down next to Pete on the bed and dropped his head into his hands.

"Oh, shit, Whit, what did she say?" Pete was afraid. Was it possible she wanted to throw Whit out? No way! No way was he going to let her do that He stood. He'd talk to her now—

"Sit Pete. It's okay. Really. She just wanted to talk. I'm fine, she's fine." He lifted his head again and gave Pete a sickly grin. "I swear, Pete it's okay."

Pete was damn suspicious but he had to go along with what Whit said. 

From downstairs a voice called out," Hey! Where is everyone?" 

Pete shrugged. "I thought Mike went with Dad." 

Whit sighed and got up, walked to his closet. "That's Sam."

~o0o~

Downstairs everyone was hugging and talking at once and Whit hung off to the side a bit. Sam looked great, really happy and even Abigail had no defense against a happy Sam. They worked their way by degrees back to the kitchen and Whit ended up sitting between Mike and Sam and just—looking at him.

Everyone seemed more than happy not to discuss the real reason for Sam's visit for a bit, and so he could pretend too, it was just a visit, a family thing—they'd cook and laugh and play ball and then everyone would go home and it'd be normal. And maybe sometime during the visit, Sam would turn to him and say, "You know, you're not my brother, you're so much more to me," and kiss him, hold him, touch him until he fell a million miles— _"Whit."_

He jerked his head towards Bill—"Yes sir?" He smiled as naturally as he could manage, and shoved his hair back off his forehead.

"Wow, you were gone for a moment there, you back now?" Bill smiled at him and Whit felt like crying. There was no way any of this was going to work out for him. Between Wade and Sam and everyone, he was going to die.

~o0o~

Lex walked around the castle very carefully. His dad was in a mood, to put it mildly and it was to his advantage to avoid him. He hoped to God he could get dressed and get over to Clark's before his dad found him. He was just making his way past the library when he heard his dad's dry little cough—the summons.   
_Shit, shit, shit._

"Lex."

He tried to keep walking. 

"Lex, I'm waiting." 

Lex turned back to the library. "Yes sir, I'm coming." 

His dad was in a leather chair facing the fireplace when he came in. The fireplace held a dry floral arrangement, designed to fill the space until the fireplace was in use again. Today, judging by his expression, he had a personal grudge against it. 

"Come here son." 

Lex edged closer, and stopped just out of arms reach by his father's chair. "Yes sir," he said again and hated that the thread of nervousness in his voice. 

"Lex, where have you been?" 

Lex was puzzled; that was an extremely odd question, his dad should know he'd been in the castle all day. He was under watch all the time by the servants, the security personnel, by the driver, watched all the time until he was with Clark or at Pete's' house. 

"Someone broke into the study last night—took a significant amount of money and items worth a great deal, took them out of the vault, without breaking into it. A perfect crime I'd say." Lionel leaned back in his chair and looked steadily at Lex.

Lex felt confused, afraid and angry. Was he trying to accuse him? What in the world…

Lionel stood and paced past Lex and back again and Lex felt the tiniest breath of relief—he hadn't flinched away from his dad, and that made him feel good. Emboldened, he turned to face him.

"Why haven't you called the police? If it's as serious as that."

He sneered at Lex. "You're missing something here son, as usual. No one saw a thing; none of our monitors registered anything. The house wasn't broken into, the vault wasn't disturbed. No one, absolutely no one save me can get into the vault. So. That leaves us with a mystery. One most assuredly beyond the means of our barely sufficient police force. One that I may find worthwhile to investigate personally. I do love to try and solve a mystery…"

He looked at Lex and Lex thought yes, yes you do. He remembered vividly being the object of his father's curiosity. Once the man realized there was no cure for his baldness, that he no longer had asthma, and that he seemed to heal quickly he wanted to know what had changed in his son. Pain was no deterrent; after all, it wasn't his was it? Lex lifted his lip in what was meant as a smile and his father responded in kind.

"So," he drew out the word and pinned Lex with his bright reptilian eyes. "Where have you been, Lex? What are you doing with these boys? You spend so much time with them." His tone was insinuating and Lex blushed. 

"Nothing! We're—we're friends, we go to the movies, to the coffee shop—we just hang around, that's all."

Lionel pursed his lips. "And Whitney Fordman? The one whose father owned that little store downtown? What about him?" 

Lex's heart sunk. "What about him?" he tried to sound casual but he was nowhere near as good as Dad at appearing cool.

His dad walked back to him and he stood as still as he could. A thread of nervousness ran through him but he was not going to flinch god dammit, he was not going to drop his eyes…. 

"Lex, did you know we have cameras on the estate grounds? Just as a matter of security. And on camera, we caught one of the maids in the garden with a person not on staff. Unfortunately his… face… wasn't captured on film. I'm certain she divulged information that led them to the vault." He frowned deeply. "Of course she's been let go. Suspicion is sufficient for dismissal. I don't need any one I even suspect of being disloyal on my pay roll." 

Lex felt a little dizzy at the seeming constant change of topic. He was off balance and…with dawning fear he realized that's the way his dad wanted him to be. "May, may I go sir?" he asked and barely managed to keep his voice from trembling- he had to get out of here now—

His dad nodded and made a dismissive gesture, but as Lex made it to the threshold, "Stop a moment son." He came to stand next to Lex and stroked his cheek lightly, barely touching him with his fingertips. A whisper of a touch and Lex felt his heart shrivel inside. "Lex, there are cameras in the gazebo too." He pressed a finger into the base of Lex's throat. "I can only protect you so much, Son. I can't protect you against yourself. One's first priority is to guard against weakness, no matter what that weakness is. Always be prepared to cut it out, you see. Excise the flaw before it damages the entire structure, Lex." He pressed a little harder as Lex nodded as much as he could, open mouthed, speechless and near breathless.

He walked away again and Lex heard him hiss "Disgusting." under his breath. Lex whirled and ran from the library, ran up the stairs and into his room. He didn't feel secure until his door was locked and he was massaging his throat. He tested the lock and laughed at himself. If his dad really wanted to get him, no lock in this house would stop him.

~o0o~

**SEPTEMBER**

Wade sat back against the bed and thumbed the controller. "Fuck!" he screamed and threw it against the wall hard as he could and enjoyed the sound of plastic shattering.

"God damn it, jerk face, that's the third this week. Give it up—you suck." Wade looked through the open doorway at the guy across the big space, and thought about getting up and cramming his head into the screen he was staring at, but he needed the jerk so—he grunted and lifted himself from the floor, scratching idly at the tattoo on his arm. He wandered over to the fridge and grabbed a beer before coming over to flop down on the deep couch facing the bank of computers. He pushed the couch's other occupant's legs hard to the side. "Move over, Donny."

"Ouch, stop." the guy said sleepily. His head nodded forward onto his chest. Tattoos fanned out in an arc from either side of the armholes of the wife beater he wore and Wade traced them with his foot as he drank his beer. When Donny pushed his foot away with a groggy protest, Wade pushed him to the floor.

"Man, Wade, you fuck." He shifted onto his side and drifted off again. Wade figured they'd better get busy soon, or Donny was going to sleep himself to death.

He called out to the other guy, "Frank, anything?"

"No—not a word. I've looked all over and I'm not finding anything. It's like we never did a thing." Frank swung the chair around to face Wade. "Why is that, you think? I mean that was a fucking lot of money we swept out of there. Most that we've scored yet, including the bank." 

Wade considered, sipping at his beer and thinking the whole job through. Frank's bitch gave them the location of the vault. They were in and out in plenty of time, nothing to tie them to the crime but still, no mention of the robbery on the news—anywhere. It was like it didn't happen. What the fuck…was the old bastard that fuckin' rich he didn't even miss it? Or, Wade wondered, was he missing something? Wade shrugged and emptied the bottle—fuck. Forget it. He felt a little…something. Horny, maybe. Bored. Frank was caught up in the computers again, talking to himself. Donny was snoring a little on the rug in front of the TV.

"Aaaah, shit. I'm going out, I'm bored." He lifted his jacket off a chair and shrugged it on. 

Frank answered without looking his way, "Uh-hunh. Tell Whitney I said hi."

"Fuck you, asshole. I'm going to get something to eat." He moved towards the door to the loft, and snatched a handful of bills out of a box on his way.

Frank looked at him then, and said, "You need to be careful about that—guy. He's not in this thing with us, and he could be a liability. He lives with a judge, for God's sake." He swung back to the screen. "Ass is ass; you can get it anywhere." He scowled at the screen. "And as long as we're talking here, you know, I've seen you screw a million chicks, what's up with the _guy_ anyway? I don't get it." 

Wade tried to force his snarl into something resembling a grin. "Why not, if someone hands it to you? My dick doesn't care. Why the fuck should you? It's none of your damn business."

"Maybe," Frank sneered. "But that kid… anything that's a danger to the mission _is_ my business, okay?"

Wade growled and said, "Yeah, I hear you. Let me worry about that and you mind your own fuckin' business."

Frank snorted. "Sure. Go on—get something to eat. We'll be here."

~o0o~

Wade left the loft with the conversation weighing on his mind. Since everything went to hell with his knees this was the best and the safest he'd been in ages. Shifting product around the city nearly got his ass killed and it was Frank who bailed him out of that shit, introduced him to the ‘magic tatts'. It was the biggest high he'd ever had, and the loot—fuck, they were rolling in it and no one could stop them. They were like arch-villains without a Warrior Angel to bust them. Life was great—so why the fuck wasn't he happy? 

Not like Whit. Whit was happy. Up in his little house with his new little family. With his friends. Fuck buddies. Whatever. It was cool. Whit could screw whoever the fuck he wanted. Wade stomped across the sidewalk, yanked open the car door and flopped in. Not his problem. He slammed the door hard enough to rock the car. ‘Course, it was kind of unspoken that when he wanted Whit to be there, he should be there. But Whit could do what he wanted otherwise, sure—what the fuck, Wade did whatever he wanted, fucked who he wanted. ‘Course he wasn't fuckin' his damn _friends_ …

 

He pulled out from the curb with a squeal of tires and scowled angrily at the street. He was thinking like a bitch. Worrying about Whitney. Like he was his girlfriend or some stupid shit. Fuck. He better be downtown, damn it. He wasn't going to look for him all over the place. He should know to be where he could find him…he sure as hell better know.

He parked the car on the street and walked down to the coffee shop the kids seemed to waste all their time at. He leaned against the window and peered in—okay, there he was and… Pete. Oh well. He stared into the shop at Whit. He looked sick or …sad, and Pete was—looked like he was trying to cheer him up. He could do that, maybe. _Bet I could make him feel better, whatever it is._ Maybe Whit was sad about his dad? Hard to believe Whit'd look that broken up about the old bastard.

Whit raised his head and stared right into his eyes and Wade felt a little bloom of warmth, and instantly fought to crush it out. _Bitch—you're acting like a bitch._ He wheeled about and headed for the car. If Whit knew what was good for him, he'd be in the fucking car in a minute.

There we go, that's good, Wade thought when he saw Whit coming up the sidewalk. He let a smile show, and Whit smiled back and Wade suddenly didn't care that it made him feel good. He liked looking at Whit. He liked his eyes and his hair and his nose—Wade's hands twitched as he thought about Whit's body—he liked that too.

"Hey," Whit smiled and sounded a little breathless. "We're just talking, me and Pete. We've got to get home soon."

"Get in the car; we're going for a ride."

"I can't, I really have to go home—" 

Whit started to back away and Wade slapped the roof of the car. "Get in the damn car. _Now."_ Whit jumped, eyes huge, and Wade grabbed the back of his neck and rubbed. "Shit." He took a deep breath, looked Whit in the eyes and ground out, "Please. Get. In. The. Car."

"Okay," Whit replied, looking puzzled and wary, but climbed in and as Wade pulled away from the curb again in the rear-view mirror he could see Pete on the sidewalk, hands on his hips and a scowl that should have made him burst into flame. It made him smile instead.

They drove around for a couple of hours, Whit talking nearly nonstop the whole time, which was fine with Wade. He just nodded when he had to and let the words wash over him. Whit glanced at him more than once with guarded curiosity. 

They stopped and picked up some sandwiches, Wade bought a couple of beers and they drove around some more until Whit asked him to stop at a little picnic area. He sat on the hood of the car in the parking area and smoked, drank his beer while Whit sat down by a little pond eating, throwing pieces of his sandwich to some ducks. He watched Whit walk around and toss things in the water. Lit up, smoked another cigarette and watched him talk to a little kid. He couldn't see his face at the distance he was but he knew he was laughing by the way his head moved. How did he know that? 

He cracked his beer and drank it down, set the can between his legs and thought it might be time to walk away from Whit. And the thought pissed him off.

~o0o~

Later that afternoon, he dropped Whit a short distance from the Rosses and drove away looking at him in his rearview mirror until he couldn't see him anymore. He realized he'd hardly said two words to him the whole time and he'd never asked him why he looked so sad. Not that he gave a damn. Wade growled. It started like that—someone started to creep under your skin and the next thing you knew you were weak—weakness didn't get you through the night. Weakness was something you had to rip out before it ate you alive.

Fuckin' Whitney. God dammit. He couldn't get him out of his mind. Shit. He'd _killed_ his old man because he was hitting him. Killed him. Damn, it was an eerie feeling— the old bastard's heart pumping in his hand. He could feel it struggling against his squeezing fingers and in a way it wasn't too bad a feeling. Wade wondered if you could do it without killing a person. He smiled, grabbed his pack of smokes and tapped one out, flipped it up to his lips and lit it. Exhaled a long thick plume of smoke and smiled wide. Yeah. Interesting thought.

~o0o~

It had been a long day, a good day. Lex had felt warm and relaxed all day. From the moment he'd gotten into the truck with Clark until now, it had been one of those special kinds of day. From horrible to—to great, wonderful. 

It was nice too, to spend some time with Mr. Kent. It'd been a real long time since they'd talked and he'd missed it. Seemed like Mr. Kent did too. ‘Red, you need to come around more often, Martha misses you, you probably figured that out by the amount of food she tried to stuff into you.' he'd said and squeezed his shoulder. He'd been super nice, come to think of it—full of advice about college and life and for a horrible moment Lex had thought he was about to get a lecture on the birds and the bees until Clark interrupted them to take Lex back home. Mr. Kent had even seemed to…blush a bit and told them to go off and have a good time. And looked at Lex—oh. 

No. 

No. Absolutely not. 

The man had no idea. He couldn't. He looked sideways at Clark. Could he?

"Lex—if you don't mind, I want to stop somewhere before I drop you off?"

Lex agreed and a short time later they were parked a little distance from the road that took them to the pond they used to spend so much time at when they were kids. Clark grinned at Lex's look of surprise and hopped out of the truck, heading off for the pond without waiting for Lex. In minutes they were standing by the edge of the little pond.

Lex looked around amazed by how nothing seemed to have changed in the years gone past. Of course, per cliché, it was a little smaller than he remembered. Memories. Wonderful things, memories. He smiled faintly, and remembered playing with Pete in the mud here, building forts and drowning ninja turtles and talking about life as they understood it then, talking to Whit about love and death and where they were headed here, crying alone here, reading comics with Clark and falling in love here—it was amazing how much life one place could hold, how many secrets and how many stories it could keep.

Clark sat in the grass and leaned back on his elbows, smiling as he watched the setting sun. Lex watched him, gold and bronze and ruby washing over him as the sun slowly set, and when it was almost gone, Clark turned to him and said, "You know—I can't believe how many of the happy times in my life revolve around you. Whenever I think—oh, that was a good time, we had fun then—there you are smiling at me. Lex…why do you let some people call you Red and not others?"

Lex gaped at Clark a minute, startled by the abrupt change of topic. There he goes again. Questions out of left field that you're not prepared to answer. If it weren't Clark, he'd think it was a psychological ploy that would do Lionel proud. But with Clark, it was just his bizarre way of thinking. Non-linear in the extreme, he thought fondly. "There aren't others, Clark, just Whit and …your dad."

"Oh. Why?"

Lex pulled a long strand of grass up and nipped it between his teeth, savoring the sharp nutty… _green _taste of it as Clark did the same.__

__

__"Because your dad"— _and II wish he were my dad_ —" just does"—_ Just like he would if he was my dad. He would always have loved me and called me Red and still would because I'd never change in his eyes_—I haven't changed for him. Or for Whit, I'm still me." 

Still the same in their eyes, true or not. He wound down into silence, wrapping and unwrapping his finger in the strand of grass.

Clark frowned, "But you don't care that I call you Lex? Because you haven't changed to me either, nothing has changed how…you know, how we're friends."

"Clark. You never liked calling me Red." Lex smiled. "You always wanted to call me Lex. I never stopped you. I liked hearing you call me Lex." He shrugged. "And then I got so angry about losing my hair—" 

Clark made a soft sad noise and Lex patted his arm. "I don't blame you Clark. You would have helped me if you could, I truly believe that now. I can look at you, and see that's true."

Clark looked down and pinked. "I'd do anything for you, Lex." He looked up at him and the honesty that shone out of his eyes pierced Lex through. Yes, he did believe that Clark would do anything for him and it was a little …frightening. To be the object of that much devotion and not even to have earned it. 

Clark reached out his hand, and laid it on Lex's arm. "Hey, are you okay? I hope I didn't make you feel uncomfortable bringing up all that stuff. Sometimes my mouth kind of takes off before my brain knows it's open. My mouth I mean." 

He gave Lex another big blinding smile, and Lex's hands twitched as he fought to keep them down on his knees, told himself not to think about Clark's lips, and his green eyes and his strong neck tilted back as he grinned up at the sky with his eyes narrowed and inhaled deeply. 

"Umm. Don't you love the smell of night?" Clark laughed and closed his eyes completely."I mean not night, you know—the smell of grass and the ground, flowers and stuff. It's like in the day you can't smell it but when it gets dark, you can concentrate because there's not all this stuff trying to get your attention…" 

Lex leaned closer and sniffed. Yes, he smelled grass and flowers, and cotton and soap, he smelled shampoo and he smelled Clark, under all those other smells was the smell of Clark, and he closed his eyes too, tried to memorize the smell— the feel of the night. It was still hot, and the air sat on him, nothing moved, no breeze stirred the air. It felt like the night was waiting for something, some sign or movement and then it would move on, taking this frozen moment with it. He sighed and thought he'd been very quiet but Clark turned to him.

"Are you okay Lex? We can go whenever you want—I just thought you might like visiting this place again—"

"Shut up Clark—." 

Clark started. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you mad or anything." He started to get up and Lex reached out and grabbed the hem of his shirt.

"Hey, sit Clark, I'm fine, better than." He smiled at him and his knuckles slid up Clark's side as he sat down. He was shocked at what that tiny contact did to him, for a moment his breath really did catch in his throat—and Clark said, "Oh shit," and gently but firmly pushed him flat and—kissed him. Kissed him and kissed him and he kissed him and still tried to talk, tell him something, to apologize. ‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered over and over and Lex wanted to ask sorry for what but if he did Clark would stop kissing him and he couldn't stand the thought.

He would never ever forget this feeling, he'd never be able to smell Tide again and not get a hard-on, and he'd never feel grass against his bare back without wanting to cry. He'd never be able to sit out on a warm clear night again and not feel his soul flare. God. Happy? Happy didn't begin to describe the feeling—happy wasn't even in the neighborhood. 

Clark sniffed against him and he felt something warm and wet roll down his neck. "Lex, Lex…why did you let me wait so long to know how much I love you—why didn't you tell me sooner?"

All his plans to make Clark crawl to him and beg him to love him, any last shred of hurt or wounded pride drained away, and he rocked Clark in his arms. He kissed the sweat dampened hair and wet cheek, spoke softly, lovingly into his ear." Because, Clark…you're stupid."

It felt so good to feel Clark's laughter against his chest.

~o0o~

It was the right kind of day for an end of the season cookout. Summer was bowing out to Fall with a last round of ungodly hot and humid days and everyone was just a little limp except for Jonathan and Bill. They happily took no notice of the sweltering heat, absorbed as they were in providing for the crowd, moving hot dogs and hamburgers off the grill and on to waiting plates like a well-oiled machine and indulging in a friendly and long-standing argument as to grilling methods. The smell of the cooking meat was thick in the air, and Martha waved her hand to waft the greasy smoke away as she walked across the lawn towards the deck where Abbie, Kathy and Sam's fiancée sat. 

She stopped for a moment, distracted by the sight of her son chasing after a run-away basketball as the Ross boys yelled encouragement. The sight made her sigh. Clark sat himself out of games now, afraid that he might hurt someone or give away his secret. It made her sad that more and more Clark's life warped around it. The Secret. It was beginning to capitalize itself in her head. Taking over their lives, their minds like that puzzler; don't think of a white polar bear…

All they'd ever wanted was to give Clark as normal a life as they possibly could. She knew how much he just wanted to be like other boys and now—how much more difficult it must be, to have to hide so much of himself. Clark had finally learned to keep below the radar—learned to escape notice. But the toll it took on him was wearying she knew. She watched it chip little bits out of him day by day and though she and Jonathan both struggled to fill the gaps for Clark she knew in her heart it wasn't nearly enough.

She watched him walk back toward the hoop with Lex, his head down, appearing to listen intently to something Lex said. Out of nowhere a thought popped into her head.   
_My Son Is Gay._

And yet another worry. She worried what kind of life he would have, what kind of happiness he would find—and then again, was gay even a term they could apply to Clark? Who knew what it meant to her son—what was normal and what was not when you weren't even human? _My son is gay, and an alien. My gay alien son._

A little bubble of laughter welled up in her and she smiled, felt a little prick of guilt for doing so. But honestly, put like that, it was almost ridiculous. She shook her head and sighed at herself and walked on to the deck. Life was what it was, better to enjoy the good things and not waste it looking for answers you may never receive.

She glanced over at the boys again. She hoped that Lex wasn't going to be a wrong choice for him. Her heart went out to the boy, but he and Whit were so much alike in many ways and as much as she cared for Whit, he wouldn't have been her choice for Clark. She didn't want to worry but they both possessed the capability to really hurt her baby….

~o0o~

Clark and Lex flopped down together in the shade of the garage. 

"Good barbeque, isn't it? Sam must feel pretty good that his family's being so nice to what's her name."

Lex smirked at Clark. "Um. I'm sure ‘what's her name' must be thrilled." He shifted a bit on the grass and Clark took a moment to admire his outfit, linen pants and a white shirt untucked and couldn't believe how good he looked. And also how not Smallville he looked. Lex was gradually developing a radically different taste from what he'd grown up with. There were a lot less jeans and tees nowadays and a lot more designer things that looked wonderful but still, Lex really stood out in a crowd. With a whisper of unease, Clark realized that Lex dressed more and more like his dad these days.

Lex smiled at him and whatever thought was trying to form in his mind disappeared in the light of Lex's attention. Reformed itself around what he could he do to make Lex smile at him like the all the time….

~o0o~

Whit wandered back along the driveway and out to the road. 

"Going for a walk," he'd told Pete and Lana, and tried to ignore Pete's flare of temper. He watched the road under his feet and let the sun beat against the back of his neck, and imagined it was loosening muscles wound so tight they felt like popping. When he crossed into the field on the other side he sat, grateful to be hidden in the tall grass. He pulled his shirt over his head, wadded it up, lay back in the grass and shoved the balled up tee-shirt under his neck. 

Whit closed his eyes and listened to the sounds in the field, not quite silence, not quite noise—a soothing low buzz that relaxed him enough to let him breathe again. He pulled a crumbled joint out of his pocket and considered it for a while, sighed and lit it. What the fuck, right? It wasn't like his life was going to get a whole lot better, and it sure couldn't get any damn worse…

~o0o~

Sam just stared at Sheryl. She glared back at him. 

"I can see they don't like me, Sam. It's quite obvious. And if you cared for me at all, you wouldn't let me be treated like this. " 

"Sheryl, I have to say it looks to me like they're really trying—this cook out was for you, a chance to get to know us, and our friends. If— when you get to be part of the family, honey, they'll be your friends too." 

Sheryl sniffed. "I can't say I'm too impressed by your friends—they seem a little thuggish to me." 

She sat back and studiously avoided looking at him, and frowned as she fanned herself with a paper plate. Sam gaped at her. Ron and them were thuggish? He should tell them, it would please the hell out of them…"Look, I went to school with those guys, we've been friends for a long time, don't you think the fact that they're my friends should count for something?" He tried to appease her with a little joke. "After all, you have to admit I have good taste in people." He reached out for her hand and she moved it out of his reach.

"I'm being serious and you're trying to belittle my concerns?" she stared at him intensely. "I love you Samuel Ross, but some things will have to change even before we get married, you understand?"

Sam nodded, she was so very beautiful and incredibly smart and ambitious—she was everything a man should—could want.

~o0o~

Pete watched Whit walk down the drive and tried to control his temper. Ever since that jackass came back, Whit was changing and it made him so mad.

Lana touched his wrist, "Pete. Whitney just needs some private space; he's probably going through a lot lately, especially today. It has to hurt him, seeing Clark and Lex being so friendly now. It hasn't been that long that he and Clark split, after all. Poor thing" 

She nibbled at her lip in concern, and Pete stole little looks at her out of the corner of his eye. He loved looking at her when she wasn't aware. When he was able to concentrate on what she said instead of how incredible she looked, he thought seriously about it for a moment. Possible? Could it be Clark, and not Asshole? Hell no—Whit wasn't broken up about that, he'd practically shoved the two idiots together—Damn it. Sometime soon he was going to have to get Sam to pin Whit down and let him have it. That boy needed to get his head right. Fucking Wade.

Lana was still gently stroking his wrist and his frown slowly turned into a smile, and the little sound of contentment she made when he finally gave in to it was the best thing he'd heard all day.

~o0o~

Evening brought with it the kind of comfortable quiet only found in a summer night. Clark and Lex were in the truck alone—they'd stayed and helped the Ross' clean up after the barbeque, his parent's had headed home and now it was just the two of them. No radio played, they didn't speak, the rush of air through the open truck windows the only sound. It was fine, comfortable. Lex was leaning back against the seat, his eyes closed and a smile on his face. Clark felt good. The barbeque had been great, Lex had had a good day and so had he. 

He pulled into the drive of the castle and the truck rolled to a stop and he looked straight ahead. 

Lex's head rolled towards him and he raised an eyebrow. "Did you have a reason for stopping here, Clark?" he smiled and stretched and Clark reminded himself to breathe.

He grinned at Lex, said "Oh yeah," and grabbed his thighs in each big hand, and pulled him over the seat to him. He grabbed Lex's head before he could do more than squeak in surprise and pressed his lips against Lex's and enjoyed how nice they felt against his. Warm and soft, with just the right amount of give. He pressed a bit more, and felt them give against his a little, and slowly touched the very tip of his tongue to Lex's closed mouth. He leaned forward, slowly increased pressure until Lex's lips opened a little and Clark's tongue slid forward to touch just the tip of Lex's, and withdrew. Lex made a little noise that traveled down Clark's spine and followed Clark's tongue with his, it slid in over his lips and made them tingle and open and Lex took advantage, his tongue swept eagerly into his mouth, and filled him with heat, the taste of Lex like apples and salt and steel, he moaned the whole time he kissed him and when he drew back he left Clark gasping for breath and wanting more.

Clark wasn't sure if he pulled Lex into his lap, or if Lex climbed there himself, but suddenly he had handfuls of Lex, a squirming, groaning, moving non-stop Lex. He plunged back into the kiss. It felt great, in fact a little too good. He pulled back, and Lex let out a loud gasp. "Mmm. You have to breathe, Lex," he chuckled. "We need to—we should slow down a bit."

"What for," Lex groaned. "You didn't before. Why slow down with me?" 

Lex reached for Clark again, and he frowned a little and pushed him back to the seat. "Lex, we don't want to do this in a truck." 

"We don't? Why the hell not?" Lex huffed. Clark saw that he was already preparing for rejection and getting angry and defensive.

Clark sighed. "I just want to have it nice—" he started and Lex snorted.

"God, you big girl you. Come on Clark, let's not waste time." And he slid his hands under his shirt and over his ribs.

Clark struggled not to giggle, "Stop, that's tickling me!"

"It is? Damn, it's supposed to turn you on, let me try this," and he slid a very agile hand into the waist of Clark's jeans and Clark grabbed his hand in a gentle but firm grip. 

Lex's reaction wasn't what Clark intended. Seeing his whole hand swallowed up in Clark's exited him, but Clark mistook his expression and leaned forward again. "Really Lex, you think it's stupid, but I want it to be something special with you."

Lex sniped back, obviously angry, offended, and probably hurt, "Fuck, Clark. Does this mean I'm not getting laid?" 

Clark blushed, put the truck into drive and drove up to the front of the castle. He stopped and stared at the steering wheel as though it had personally offended him. They sat in silence for a while, both hurt, both confused.

Lex was the first to speak. "Clark, I'm an idiot and–and–an idiot. I'm sorry, you're right. I guess. Though sex in the truck would have been very special." 

Clark laughed softly, knowing Lex was trying to break the uncomfortable tension between them, grateful for it. He squeezed Lex's hand. "Thanks for going along with me. You'll see, it will make a difference." Clark was certain of it.

~o0o~

Lex smiled, but sighed inside. _At what point in my life did I become Clark's bitch?_ he wondered He cllimbed out of the truck and began to walk away when Clark called his name softly. He sighed and turned back, leaned into the open window. "Now what, Clark?"

"In case you're wondering Lex, my game plan calls for us to be together forever. Just so you know." He beamed at him and pulled off. Lex watched him drive away and grinned. 

Clark's bitch? He laughed out loud at himself. He was anything but. He was whatever Clark wanted him to be because he was in love with Clark. And because Clark was in love with him. Being in love was terribly simple when you looked at it that way. He didn't need to fight it or control it and he felt freer than he'd ever felt before, and when the time came, it was going to be more than special—he knew it was going to be transforming. 

He turned to go inside and instinct made him look up. His dad was in the window, arms folded and eyes like lasers trained on him. Lex shivered. He knew he'd been waiting. Watching. And now all happiness curdled. He had to go in and confront him and do it alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Whit was pulling a sleeping bag out from under the bed when Sam came in.

"Hey, Whit, what's up, ugly? Where you going?" He watched Whit pull the dusty bag out and shake it gently, and he batted at the fluffs that escaped. 

"Man, how come Mom doesn't make you clean under the bed like she did me?" He mock-frowned.

Whit sat back with the bag and smiled up at him, "I'm going to bunk in with Pete for the next couple of nights—give you your room back." He folded the bag into a manageable bundle but Sam squatted down next to him and squeezed his shoulder.

"Naw, stay, it's cool. We can talk—it's been forever, right?" He scrubbed Whit's hair and avoided his swinging elbow. He jumped back to his feet, grinning. "You don't snore right? Or you know, fart in your sleep?" He laughed and shoved the bag next to the bed with a hearty kick.

Whit grinned and felt better than he had in days. "Fuck you, funny guy."

"Unh- hunh…I think I'll leave the window open. Just to be safe." He grinned back at Whit and his whiskey colored eyes sparkled.

He went to the closet and changed his t-shirt for a clean polo shirt and grabbed another pair of shoes out of his suitcase.

"Where you going?" Whit asked and blushed at his tone. Maybe it only sounded whiney and childish to his ears because Sam just smiled.

"Taking Sheryl back home. She's working in the morning so I'm going to drop her off. I'm coming back tonight—I think I have a lot of talking to do yet." He smiled ruefully. Whit nodded. Abigail was pretty steamed about this whole engagement thing and Sheryl hadn't done a damn thing to make it better with her superior attitude and her annoying way of never letting Sam out of her sight—not even to talk to his own mother, for god's sake... Whit tried to calm himself. God he hated that bitch.

Sam stopped and looked at himself in the mirror. "How do I look?" he asked. "Her parents are going to be there…" He had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. So worried about making an impression on her parents when she obviously didn't give a damn about his? The pu-nany must be gold, as Mike would say.

Whit waved him off. "You look great. See you later." Sam left with a grin and a quick punch to his shoulder. 

It bothered Whit that Sam hadn't noticed his curt dismissal. He spread out his bag and lay down, sighed and felt his good mood crash and burn. Damn it—why the fuck was he such an idiot? Why the fuck couldn't he just, just stick to Wade. They deserved each other.

There was a tap at the door and Mike stuck his head in and swiveled his eyes around the room. "You okay? Pete's asleep. You'll have to be quiet—" 

"I'm staying in here," Whit mumbled and turned on his side.

Mike looked at him for moment and came in, sat next to him on the floor. "Look, you think that's a good idea?" he asked, stopped Whit's angry response. "I'm thinking about you. You need to kind of let it go, Whit—he's marrying Sheryl for the happy ever after. You need to find yourself—"

Whit growled at him through clenched teeth, "Swear to god, if you say a nice girl, I'll kill you—there's never, ever, going to be a nice _girl,_ okay? I know that now, and I'm good with it—how about you try? Unless you're a homophobic jerk off in which case you can kiss my whole ass." Whit flopped back on the bag and wished he were unconscious. He'd prefer a coma to being blown by Brad Pitt right now…

Mike stood. "I don't have a problem, Whit. But I'm not the one you have to worry about."

Mike left the room and shut the door, plunging the room into darkness. Fuck. He'd always thought Mike was cool, but he was being a fucking jerk-off. He would never have thought Mike was that way—what about Mom Ross— Bill? What if they thought the same way? 

Whit got up. Fine. He was going to stay with Wade tonight—Wade fucking well wouldn't turn him away. Plus, he needed to think about this. If the Rosses weren't cool with him then he needed to leave, hard as it would be. He loved them, but he refused to be judged by anyone. He put sneaks on and grabbed some money and headed for the front door.

He passed the kitchen and a voice rolled out of the dark—"Get in here, asshole."

_Mike!_ Fuck he was being stalked by Mike. Whit headed towards the front door anyway and Mike growled, "How fast can you run, boy?"

Whit stomped back to the kitchen and glowered at Mike. "What? You want to beat me up some more? Hey, maybe I could lie down on the floor and you can kick me in the head—or do you _all_ want me to get out?" 

Mike's face was highlighted by the light over the stove and his expression was not pleased to say the least. "You think this is about being gay, you idiot? Hell. If that were the case, Lex and Clark wouldn't be allowed in here, would they? You ‘d have to be blind not to see they love each other, and it's cool and Ma's cool with it and so's Pop. That's not the issue. What it is, Sam might bounce you pretty hard— _he's_ the one with issues. You understand? I'm tryin' to spare you."

Whit dropped into a chair and folded his hands on the table. Well. Good. It was a great relief to know that it wasn't the family—it was just Sam. Okay.

He felt _free,_ kind of nice and loose and relaxed without the tension of Sam always on the edge of his mind. He smiled at Mike. It was like a big weight had been lifted off his soul and it was so light he was floating. So light, he wasn't sure if he could keep sitting upright in his chair. He didn't need to ever worry about Sam again. And now he could be with Wade like he should be—he could give all of himself to Wade, be the kind of …whatever it was Wade considered him to be.

"Thanks Mike—thanks a lot; you really made a difference for me tonight. I have been kind of an idiot, but not anymore. Thanks for looking out for me." He stood and reached a fist across the table and Mike tapped it with his. 

"Look, Whit, don't get me wrong, he loves you like a brother, and he could probably get over it, but…you know it's just…" Mike looked up into Whit's smiling face with concern.  
Whit laughed a little, "Oh yeah. I'm sure he could…it's Sam, right?"

Mike looked a little dubious, and asked Whit to please stay in tonight, "Promise me Whit, keep your ass in the house, okay?"

Whit shrugged and promised, what the fuck, tonight, tomorrow—it didn't really make a difference, Wade was going to be there when he needed Whit, no problem.

It was much later in the evening when Sam came back. Whit had been sound asleep until he came in stumbling about in exaggerated care, trying not to step on him and of course stepping on him, turning on the bedside lamp and nearly knocking it to the floor. "Shhhh," he admonished the lamp, and put it shakily back on the table. Whit's eyes shot open at the noise but he re-closed them and pretended to be asleep, even when Sam was half an inch from his face and boozy fumes filled his nose. Whit," he stage whispered, "Whit, are you asleep?" he leaned back, "Asleep, hanh? Good, ‘sbetter."

He patted Whit heavily on his chest and stood. He stripped off and dropped his clothes on Whit, staggering to fall on the bed when he tried to pull his pants off. Whit watched him through narrowed eyes as he flailed his legs until the pants flew off. Another time, he might have thought it cute, but now he was too angry. Sam was stinking drunk and stinking was not a figure of speech. He smelled of alcohol and cigarettes and dope—and Whit was pissed. What the fuck was his problem? If Mom Ross knew—

Sam staggered upright again and pulled off his boxers, tossed them in the far corner of the room with a grimace. Whit stopped breathing.  
Fuck. 

Sam stood; swaying slightly from side to side, and idly ran a hand over his dick. Whit could feel his chest swelling—he needed to breathe but he was afraid to. Damn it, damn it, damn it! Lay down, you fucker, he groaned inside. He could see Sam's dick starting to fill and move under the caress of his fingers.

He did drop backward onto the bed then, and Whit gratefully closed his eyes and hoped he'd pass out or fall asleep, god, anything but do what he was afraid he was about to do. And Sam sighed heavily and moaned a little and Whit could hear the bedsprings squeak as he shifted. And then a sound as familiar as breathing curled into his ear—- bastard. A slick sound, the sound of skin on skin. A soft breathy moan floated down to him and stabbed him in the heart as it flooded his dick with heat.

_Oh fuck, just kill me; please…_ Sam was groaning steadily, louder and louder as he worked his fist over his dick faster and faster, his hips snapping against the bed and making the springs squeak in a rhythm he knew well. Sam was talking; muttering to himself and Whit struggled not to listen but every murmur made his dick jump, and his hand stole over it, wet with the precome leaking steadily onto his belly and the drooling tip lay in a warm slick pool; he pressed his hand down on it and the head slipped and slid against his skin and he tried not to moan along with Sam.

Sam was gasping, talking loud enough that Whit couldn't block it any more—"fuck, god—hot" he heard him moan," Please, please, please—" 

Whit bit his lip until tears of pain rolled down his cheek and his hand moved faster, tighter, harder he couldn't stop now, he was right on the edge, his breath burning in his throat, his hips arched off the floor.

Sam was so out of it he was beyond trying to control himself. His legs were spread wide and he threw his head back and groaned something low and throaty, Whit managed to see that he had a finger plunging in and out of himself and he died then. He shoved a hand between his lips and bit down grinding his teeth into his palm and he came so hard he curled up off the bag and hung there while his body tried to squeeze his heart out through his dick. His back hit the floor with a grunt and he froze—afraid Sam would hear him, but he was out, snoring lightly and under the covers.  
Whit was drifting off himself, he was in the place between dreams and waking and he thought maybe Sam's voice followed him into sleep. "Stop killing me please."

**SEPTEMBER**  
The school year had started without a bang, and was just kind of …coasting along. There was something about junior year that seemed so- transitional? Clark thought it was just a big placeholder between years—you weren't a freshman, which meant you weren't a target for abuse—you weren't a senior, you weren't really anything. Clark nodded to himself. Yep. Just a big old cipher.   
Pete slamming his books down on the table snapped him back to awareness.

"Clark, god damn it! I'm going to go off up in here!" Pete scowled so hard Clark feared for his face. He looked around the library and hoped the librarian hadn't heard Pete. She was –kind of scary.

"What's wrong Pete…and what did we say about channeling the rap videos?"

Pete dropped down in the chair opposite Clark. "Yeah, fuck you Clark. Lana is trying to drive me insane! Whit is driving me insane!" He sighed dramatically and waited.

Clark obliged him. "What do you mean? I can see Whit driving you nuts—it's Whit. But Lana?"

"She's panicking! She insists there's no way we can keep a relationship going _and_ go to college and what the hell! We've got a whole fucking year! Why is she stressing now?"

He practically howled the last word and Clark's eyebrows rose. Damn. Pete was losing it. Poor guy. "Pete, don't curse, and I guess you're just going to have to work really hard at making her feel secure." Clark sighed. He knew what Pete was feeling, how helpless and frustrated he must feel. Lex was becoming less and less secure himself. It seemed the more he tried to appease his dad, the worse his dad got. Lex was nearly tearing himself to bits—hiding everything about himself from his dad. If Lex didn't have his house to come to—Clark didn't want to think about it. He shuddered. What if Lex decided he had to _be_ like his dad in order to win some kind of positive acknowledgment from his dad? Clark reminded himself to talk to his own dad when he got home. He was grateful he had his family to help him look out after Lex because it was nearly a full time job.

Pete growled and dropped his head into his hands. "Clark, what do I do? How do I get her to believe it's just her, always has been?" He looked seriously, even sadly at Clark. "How can I make her see it's forever?"

Clark looked at Pete and shook his head. "Pete, if you find a way, please let me know."

Pete nodded and sighed and shoved his books around into a neater pile. "Fuck."

Clark and the librarian both looked at him with lips pursed in a disapproving frown.

"Spare me Clark—I'm seventeen, you need to stop playing you're my dad, okay? I cuss, I drink, and I'm not a virgin any—" 

"Jesus! TMI, Pete! I don't want to know!" Clark turned bright red. The idea that Pete and Lana…wait. "You...Lana? Are you telling me that you guys…."

Pete looked down at the table and tried not to grin. "Man, Clark, don't say a word—she'd kill me." Pete grinned at Clark, his eyes wide with wonder. "I tell you man, it was the most amazing experience of my life. She's, she's …I really love her, y'know?"

He smiled, in the grip of a memory that Clark sincerely hoped he wasn't going to share, and a thought popped into his mind. Oh my god—what if they just kind of …could he ask Pete if they used protection or was that kind of icky?

Pete was still focused on the distance, smiling dreamily when he said, "Clark, I can feel you thinking and yes, we were smart." He refocused on Clark. "Are you as boy-scouty with Lex as you are with me? ‘Cause I'm feeling a little sorry for the poor guy. He must have to really work to get some. And right now, I'm so sorry I said _that."_

Clark frowned at Pete and said, "First of all, we haven't done anything and second save your sympathy for someone who didn't steal Raphael."

"WHAT!" Pete shot to his feet. "It was him! Lex stole my turtle!"

Every single pair of eyes in the library turned their way, and up the aisle, like a tugboat pulling into a harbor in hell, came the librarian. "Shit," Pete muttered. "Now we're in trouble, here comes Conan the Librarian."

Clark grabbed his books and grinned sheepishly at the librarian as he squeezed past her and headed for the doors, he could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head as he and Pete escaped. "Butthole," Clark muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Jerk."

"Big baby, worrying about some ninja turtle—move on, for god's sake."

"So—you and Lex, not doing— ow! You probably don't know this but your giant hand hurts when it makes contact with my head."

"If you think my giant hand hurts wait until my foot makes contact with your butt."

 

Pete stopped at his locker and looked at Clark. "You know, Clark. You're what? Six foot, a little more? And big. You're a very big guy. No way do you look sixteen, you look so much older. And saying this I have to point out to you—butt? Can't you say ass like everyone else and be a little less girly? It's an embarrassment hanging out with you."

~o0o~

Pete slammed his locker shut and grinned at Clark. He pointed up the hallway and followed behind Clark as he parted the crowd for them. A big friend was good to have, he grinned to himself. He mulled their conversation over in his head. So. Clark and Lex, not doing...whatever. His brain did a mental skip around the mechanics. He loved his friends but ew—not wanting to know. Anyway, it had to be Clark's idea. He really couldn't see Lex wanting to wait, He snorted. And that's all he wanted to think about that. He glanced up when he heard Clark yell a greeting. Ah. Whit. And there was another bump on his road to happiness. Stubborn motherfucker. Stubborn and stupid, and, and…."Whit, What's up?" Pete forced a smile.

Whit rolled his eyes. "Pete, come on, give it a rest!"

Clark snorted and went into the gym.

"Whit—you've got to talk to Abbie and Bill. You should go to college, and they'll support you, I'm telling you! Talk to them—hell, they're going to talk to you anyway."

"Pete, I told you, I don't want to go— that's the only reason. Okay? Now shut up and go to class. I'll be in in a minute, okay?"

Pete gave him a skeptical look and went in, looking behind his shoulder the whole time. 

Whit sighed and went back to his locker, tossed in his books, slammed the door closed and leaned his head against the cool metal He closed his eyes and wished life was as simple as Pete seemed to think it was— he didn't have a care in the world. Pete had everything. 

Whit turned and walked down the hall. Okay, he had a better life than he ever dreamed he could have, but pieces of his old life—he walked out the school and down to the drive. 

Yeah. Pieces of his old life kept hooking its claws into him, kept pulling him back.

Wade leaned on the hood of his car and smiled at him and Whit smiled back. He got in the car without looking at Whit and Whit walked a little faster. This was the life that wanted him. The life he was born to have.

~o0o~

Pete, Lex and Clark looked for Whit after school, and when he didn't show Pete and Lex were angry. Clark just felt frozen, kind of helpless. No matter what changed for Whit, it seemed like he couldn't let go of the bad, and it scared Clark. The silence in the truck was deafening He kept looking at Lex on the drive home, thinking about Lex's life, all his troubles and pain and how everyone Lex trusted seemed to dump on him time after time. What if he turned out like Whit, or –or his dad? Clark chewed on his lip. This worry about Lex and his dad, it was turning into some sort of fixation with him. He couldn't get it out of his mind, and when he'd tried to bring it up with Lex, he'd laughed at him.

"Clark, I know the guy's a bastard." He'd lifted his shirt and showed Clark the bruises across his ribs. "Nobody gets it more than I do. Why the fuck would I ever want to be like that, Clark? Why?" his eyes had shimmered and his lips trembled. "This," he'd touched his side, "is the lesson I've learned, how _not_ to be. What not to be, Clark"

Clark had forgotten all else then and concentrated on showing Lex how much he cared. Clark sighed. It was getting harder and harder for him to stick to his game plan, but somehow he knew that if he gave in now, if he tossed his plan, Lex would lose whatever trust he'd managed to rebuild with him. God.

At his deep sigh, Lex looked at him over Pete's head and smiled ruefully. "I feel so close to Pete at this moment. How about you?"

Pete tried to shift and snapped, "Close? You've got your elbow in my kidney. What are you complaining about? At least you'll still be able to piss when we get out of here"

Lex sighed. "You know Pete, you're such a whiner…"

"And you are a thief. And a liar, and, and a—kidnapper!"

Lex stared at him open-mouthed, stunned by his outburst, and then realization dawned. "Oh my god…this is about the turtle isn't it?" His eyes were wide and sparkled with glee and Clark fell even more in love with him and Lex burst out laughing, "The fucking Ninja Turtle! " 

He laughed so hard tears ran down his face, and Pete struggled to keep a scowl on his face. "Lex you bastard! It's not funny, man! I loved those guys and it drove me nuts when I couldn't find him…."

Lex sobered and then took Pete's arm and squeezed it. "Pete, Pete, listen, yeah, I stole Raphael—but sometimes that damn turtle was the only thing that kept me sane." At Pete's skeptical look he went on, "I was a little kid in a strange place and no one sounded like me, or looked like me—no one cared about me…and when it got too bad, I'd look at Raph, and he'd remind me people loved me—I had friends… It was the only thing I could take of my life here. A few pictures and this fucking little plastic turtle."

Pete laughed but it sounded suspiciously like a sob, and Clark tsked. Pete could be way too sensitive sometime, and tried to clear his throat quietly. Felt like something was stuck in there….

"Any way, sorry about that, and I still have him if you want him."

Pete thumped Lex in the chest. "Shut up, stupid. Keep it."

They dropped Pete off at home and Lex rode home with Clark. 

They laughed about Pete on the way in, and told Jonathan about it while they had milk and some of Martha's chocolate chip cookies. 

He grinned at Lex and patted his shoulder. "You know Lex, we should be angry with you. You have no idea what Pete put us through. The boy's a little obsessive," he mused. Clark grinned and looked at his dad, and cut his eyes toward Lex. His dad grinned back and nodded. Lex put down his glass and sighed. 

"You're talking about me."He held up his hand. "No—I don't need to hear words, I know it. And I'm not obsessive," he groused and handed Clark a napkin. "Wipe, you have chocolate…."

Jonathan got up and rolled his eyes. "Oh no, not obsessive, not you."

He left kitchen and Lex waited a beat. "Your dad likes me better than you."

"Uh-unh!" Clark huffed.

"And so does your mom," he grinned.

Clark grinned back and displayed a mouth full of wet cookie. "Okay, that's possible," he said, and gulped the wet mess down.

"God, you're disgusting—why do I love you again?" Lex frowned. Clark made a show of thinking.

"Because…because…you're stupid?"

**OCTOBER**  
Whit groaned and tried to get more of Wade in his mouth, the angle was awkward, but it was still hot. There was something about blowing Wade in the car that really turned him on.

Wade watched him and grunted when Whit swirled his tongue around the tip of his dick. His eyes narrowed and he panted harder, "Go ahead, bring yourself off," he gasped and Whit hurriedly undid his jeans and began jerking himself off. He was so ready, and it wasn't often that Wade let him do this. Wade groaned and Whit opened his eyes to see the other staring at the movement of his hand over his dick. He came as Wade's eyes widened and he thrust up into his mouth and flooded it with hot fluid and cried out. And then he did something that made Whit freak out quietly. He put his fingers into Whit's mouth, moved them in and out for a second and then into his own mouth. He licked around his fingers and stared at Whit as he did so.

What the fuck, Whit thought. What the fuck? God—Wade made him insane. He could never figure him out. First he threatened him about Clark, then he acted like he didn't give a shit—One minute Wade wanted him not touching anyone but him, the next he's passing him around, and Whit felt a little sick remembering that night in Metropolis. But Wade did a lot for him…Wade saved him. What was weird was he never talked about it—only brought it up once when he found out his mom had forbidden him to come to the funeral. No big deal, but Wade had been upset. Really pissed off. He'd taken Whit for a drive, one of those strange drives where they just cruised around and around forever. He told him not to let anyone take advantage of him and told him he was worth more than anyone knew. Yeah. 

And that weekend he was a party favor for Wade's…business associates.

But it was better now; he didn't see those people anymore. It was so much better now.

"Whit." That was all he said for a moment, and then, "Get up. We're going over to my place."

Back in the loft and Frank and Donny were moving around in the area of the loft that was closed off with sheets of heavy plastic, the type used to mask off rooms. Whit could hear a buzzing sound coming from that direction, and saw the shadowy forms of Donny and Frank moving about there. Wade looked at Whit—a flat calculating stare that made Whit lick his lips nervously. Wade grinned suddenly and pushed Whit back through the plastic flaps.

"Hey, look who's here," Frank sneered up from where he was tattooing a weird design on Donny. Whit was surprised and glanced back at Wade, the tattoos on him—Wade was rubbing his arm and smiling at Donny.

Donny rolled his eyes at him and grinned back, his lip trembling a little as he did so, and hissed when Frank stopped momentarily.

The ink was a poisonous-looking green. Whit thought it glowed but it must be a trick of the light. It reminded him of something though…Wade stood behind him, digging his thumbs into the small of Whit's back, sliding them down into the waistband of his jeans, back up, down again.

Frank finished and Donny wandered off. Wade pushed Whit forward. "Him next."

Frank looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Hunh. Okay. Sit."

"Un-unh." Wade turned Whit to face him, and put his palm against his lower back. "Here." Whit wanted to say no, desperately wanted to say no but Wade's eyes were wide and flat and cold and he was smiling.

It hurt. Whit couldn't believe how much it hurt, like fire and acid and being cut open and having acid poured into your skin, into your blood— he struggled not to move or cry out and Wade murmured words of praise and leaned over his back to watch Frank work.

Under Frank's hand a ‘W' formed, large elegant, ornate, poisonously green and Wade leaned on Whit's crossed forearms and pressed down, watched the letter take shape, his body a curve over Whit. Wade stroked his arms and told him how good he was, how brave, Whit shuddered and leaned into Wade as much as he could. He lifted his head and brushed his cheek against Wade's crotch. Wade chuckled.

Frank finished, grunted as he inspected his work. He nodded, wiped it down a final time and left.

Wade touched it lightly, tracing his fingers along the line, following the curves. "It'll heal in a minute. It'll be like you've always had it." Whit kept his head down and nodded. 

Wade lifted him up and unzipped. His dick was hard and leaking, and he didn't even have to tell him, Whit leaned forward and took him in his mouth, his blood boiling and sizzling in his veins. Wade came in minutes, so quickly Whit was startled and then—Wade went down on him. 

Whit was stunned, and looked down on Wade's head in his lap and then suddenly he was on his feet, staggering as Wade pulled him, up pressed their dicks together, jerking them both off and groaning in his ear, "Come on, come with me." He came in a blinding spasm, and Wade almost jumped away from him after. Whit staggered back and collapsed on the chair, on edge, nervous. When Wade did unexpected things all too often Whit ended up paying for it in some way.

Frank and Donny looked up when they walked back into the living area; Frank looked blankly at Whit, and frowned a little at Wade before refocusing on a huge TV in the corner of the loft.

Donny just grinned at them, "Felt good, didn't it?" He asked Whit and laughed knowingly when he didn't respond. Whit shoved his hands in his pockets and looked over his shoulder at Wade.

Wade grinned and said, "How about we show Whit something …cool?" Whit felt his thumb rub against the tattoo, following the line of the ‘W' down until it brushed the cleft of his ass and he shivered.

The guys acted like school boys at recess, they rushed and pushed Whit to the door, laughing and joking with one another, all of them grinning at him like they shared a great joke that Whit wouldn't understand and he felt alone and anxious—stuff that made Wade laugh that much generally turned out bad. 

He was shoved into the back of a car and Wade leaned on him, he was almost in his lap, and he kept alternately whispering things in and tongue fucking his ear. By the time they made it to wherever their destination was Whit was red-faced, angry, and terribly turned on all at once.

They were on a road shrouded in darkness, and the guys sat on the car and Donny produced a joint and lit up. Frank watched with eager eyes until the joint was passed to him and took a deep breath, sucked it down and holding it until his face turned bright red, and he exhaled it on a barking, choking laugh. He passed it on to Wade, grinning as he did. "Man, I love nights like this—when the juice is fresh and I feel like I could fly, you know?"

Wade nodded and pulled Whit between his legs and sucked in the smoke, Whit could feel the heat as the end flared next to his cheek and then Wade was pressing his lips against his, thumb on his chin pressing down and urging his mouth open and he breathed out and Wade's tongue slipped against his for a moment, maybe accidentally. Frank spit and made a gagging sound and Donny snickered quietly. Neither one would dare say or do more than that. Both of them were afraid of Wade. They should be afraid; neither one was strong enough or crazy enough to best Wade.

Down the road the headlights of a truck flared in the dark and the guys got excited and leaped off the car.

"Get ready," Donny yelled excitedly and slapped Whit on the back, "This is going to change your life motherfucker!" He ran to the edge of the road and jittered up and down, grinning and staring up the road.

Frank laughed aloud and threw his arm around Wade. "Show the bastard what it's like to be alive, eh, Wade?"

Whit could hear the truck now, and the lights were coming around a bend in the road and reflecting off the manic glee in the faces of the men around him and he was afraid—what the hell was going on? Wade whipped him around to face him and asked him, "Trust me?"

Whit just stared at him, what the fuck—how in the hell was he supposed to answer that?

When he didn't answer Wade grinned harder. "Fuckin' right don't trust me," but his lips quirked and there was something else in his eyes for a moment, a flash of pain or anger, Whit wasn't sure.

The truck swept up the bend towards them going way over the speed limit, the glare of the headlights blinding him momentarily and throwing their shadows high against the trees nearby. The truck came barreling at them like a juggernaut from hell, and the sound of the tires racing over the tar, the roar of the engine was overpowering this close to the road and Wade grabbed him in a bear hug and yelled, "You and me, Whit! We'll live forever!" and threw the both of them into the path of the truck.

Whit froze, his body locked— his blood stopped in his veins and he truly understood the phrase ‘time stood still.' It did, it really did. 

He saw the truck like he was watching a soundless video—it came at them so slowly, silently as a ghost and Whit saw everything bright as day, he saw Wade's face, his eyes nearly closed, mouth open slightly and the tip of his tongue was visible in his parted lips, caught between his teeth and he thought with shock ‘he's beautiful', he'd never seen Wade so—serene? Transported? He waited for his death, the air rippled and a feeling unlike any he ever experienced before rolled through him, every atom of his body quivered, exploded, and reformed and it was like having multiple orgasms in every single and separate cell of his body and then he was laying in the road, held tightly in Wade ‘s arms. Wade was looking at him with just the tiniest expression of surprise and then he smiled at him—the smile that filed his eyes too, made them warm and deep and human.

"Yeah," Wade whispered huskily, "like that—" and then it was gone, and Whit was lying on the road, gravel mashed into the side of his face and smelling the stink of diesel fumes.

When they were once again in the loft, Whit lay on his back on the bed and groaning quietly and sweating. He didn't know what happened, what they'd done to him. It was like coming down from too much shit. He wanted Wade in the room with him. He didn't want to be alone, and he was cold, shaking and miserable. Wade must have thought he'd be thrilled with that trick, but he was scared—scared shitless. His world was spinning apart and doing it so horribly slow, like the truck coming at them on the road. Fuck! How long were the Rosses going to be willing to put up with his shit? It was killing him, the way they looked at him. And every day that brought that wedding closer felt like a stab to the heart. And then Wade—Jesus. He was just another knife in his heart.

As if on cue Wade came in from the other room and shut the door. 

"Take your clothes off, okay?" He began to pull his shirt off. He stopped and frowned when Whit didn't immediately strip off. "Come on, god damn it, I don't have all fucking night. Strip."

Whit shivered, and waves of heat and cold swept over him. "Please Wade, I…I don't feel good."

Wade looked at him blankly and walked out of the room. "Be undressed when I get back. And don't puke in the bed."

Whit pulled his clothes off, shivering and moaning each time he moved too fast and it made his stomach flip. Finally he sat naked on the edge of the bed, trembling, his arms wrapped tightly about himself. Just when he thought, I'm crazy, let me get dressed and go home, Wade came back. He had a cup of something steaming in his hand, and a couple of pills. 

"Here, take this and shut the fuck up, pussy." 

He pushed the cup into Whit's trembling hand, shoved the pills between his lips. "Swallow." Whit obeyed, and gasped when the tea hit his stomach, and warmth spread out through his body.

"Better?" Wade eyed him critically. At Whit's nod, he told him to lie down and stripped down to his boxers, lay down next to him. Whit shivered again and Wade rolled against him, warming him. "This what you're going through, it happens sometimes. You're having a reaction to the ink. It's okay, it won't kill you. I will though, if you throw up on me."

Whit laughed a little and his too tight muscles loosened. This was different, kind of nice…almost a cuddle, though he was careful not to move too much. And then Wade stroked his arms, and his neck, and pulled his head closer. Whit instantly started to slide down but Wade stopped him with a hand under his chin. 

"No—just this," he said, "Just keeping you warm."—Whit was so startled he almost pulled away.

"See— I can take care of you. You don't need anyone else. When we're finished here, you and me—it'll just be you and me." He pulled Whit against him, flipped the blanket over them both and after a while he slept and a little bit after that, Whit fell asleep, with his legs drawn up and a frown on his face, Wade with his arm about Whit's waist and a hand locked around his wrist.

~o0o~

**MARCH**  
By the time spring arrived, months had passed in relative quiet, Whit saw less of Wade, who said he was working on something that would set him up for life and wouldn't tell him more than that. "When the time's right I'll let you know, okay? Don't worry about it ‘til then." He wouldn't talk about it.

Whit knew the string of small time robberies in Smallville and neighboring communities were Wade and his buddies, and he felt weighed down and ancient with the knowledge. He was so damn tired, so damn tired all the time and he was fucking sick of lying all the time. He yanked his jacket shut against the wet, cold air and crammed his fists into the pockets. Spring might have arrived again but winter wasn't letting go its grip easily. He was icy outside and in and feeling like he was never going to be warm again.

He looked up to see the guys were heading his way, and sighed gustily. Time to be 'on.' Time to be Happy Whit. He forced his feelings down and prepared to play the ‘I'm Just Fine' game.

Pete reached him first. "Hey Whit! I've been looking for you. We're going to the movies tonight, you coming?" He smiled wide and for a moment Whit was angry at how clueless Pete was. Couldn't he see that his life was falling apart day by day? Insensitive ass—-

"Oh hell yeah, I'd just love to be the fifth wheel for you guys." he sneered and Pete's face fell. Damn—what did he do that for? Whit opened his mouth to apologize to Pete when Lex broke in.

"Well maybe if you'd look around you wouldn't be wheel-less." Lex snapped, angry that Whit hurt Pete's feelings. A gust of wind blew the scarf he had on around his neck and Clark pulled it back into place. He raised an eyebrow at Lex. Wheel less? he mouthed.

"Shut up," Lex snarled. He bat Clark's hand away and focused on Whit again. "You _know_ what I mean. Only an idiot keeps rebuilding the crap he got out of. Can't you see he's going to drag all the life out of you, just like your dad tried to?"

"You know what Lex, how about you shut the fuck up!" Whit yelled at Lex. "I'm sick and tired of you judging me, all of you judging me!"

Pete and Clark gaped at Whit and Lex in turn. What in the hell, Clark thought...where was this coming from? "Whit," he began, but Whit exploded.

"Why don't you just leave me alone, okay, Mr. I've Got It All. Just leave me the fuck alone!" Whit turned and sprinted down the street.

Clark rounded on Lex. "What in the heck brought that on? Whit's come so far—he's not seeing that jerk anymore. He's working hard to keep it together and then you accuse him of throwing it all away?"

Lex looked angry and hurt, and he yelled back, "Clark, how can you be so blind? He's lying to us. He has seen him, he saw him all summer long—he's probably still seeing him. He's lying, you understand? To us! I—I can't deal with that." He turned away from Clark; his arms tightly crossed over his chest and went on quietly. "He's supposed to be our friend—supposed to trust us."

Clark understood what was upsetting Lex. Whit held something back from him, Whit, who was his friend and always honest with Lex, hid from him and in Lex's mind that was as good as lying—-and people who loved him didn't lie to him. And there in a nutshell was the reason he hadn't told Lex about himself. He didn't even know how to approach the subject. It scared him whenever he thought about telling Lex because he had no idea how he'd react. Would he be angry and think he'd lied all these years, because he didn't share this with him? Would he be repulsed because he wasn't—human? Or would he change in Lex's eyes from friend to curiosity, something to be broken apart and figured out, maybe a peace offering to his dad? 

Clark horrified himself with his thoughts. No, no, no. He should know better than that. Lex would _never_ go that far in trying to get some kind of respect from his dad. He'd never do that to Clark. Never.

He studied the fierce face in front of him and the ice that'd crept into him melted. Lex looked so unforgiving. As always, covering his hurt with a show of anger. And he knew that Lex hurt was an unpredictable being—Clark sighed, his forehead creased with worry, and Lex looked at him and exhaled sharply, impatiently. 

"Don't worry, Clark; I'll talk to him later. I'm not mad so much, as disappointed. God. He just drives me crazy. Poor idiot."

Pete echoed Clark's sigh. "That guy. It's like Dad keeps saying. He just won't realize he can relax. He just doesn't know how, I guess. Man. Your parents can really screw you up hunh?" He shook his head sadly and the boys walked on, a much more subdued group now, each of them caught up in their own thoughts.

Clark trailed them a bit, his eyes on Lex slight figure. So thin, so small to carry so much weight, Clark thought. It'll be okay though. I'll be there to help. Whether he wants help or not. He loved him like breathing, but that was one stubborn man, and way too proud. And a little vain…and short-tempered. Ah well—when it came to Lex's ego, he had no delusions, but he was more than willing to stroke it. And blushed bright red at the images that rose in his mind…. 

**MAY**  
Time spun out so slowly it seemed. The days were longer again, the weather warmer and dry and breezy. The kind of days that required you to be out and about, so they were lounging around the Kent porch. Clark sat on the stair next to Lex and tried not to touch him too much, but he looked particularly cute this afternoon, with his jeans and t-shirt and it was nice to see him dressed just—average. Even if the jeans did cost more than every single thing he, Pete, and Whit were wearing right down to the boxers—he leaned over and kissed Lex on the top of his smooth head and Pete sucked his teeth and flared his nostrils and Clark laughed.

Lex rolled his head toward Pete. "What, Pete? Something wrong?" He stretched out and yawned and ended up with an arm wrapped around Clark's neck.

Pete rolled his eyes and pointed at the two. "I love you guys, but hey—love only goes so far. I don't smooch my sweetie in front of you and you don't smooch yours in front of me, deal?" He folded his arms and scowled at them, trying to look ferocious and succeeded mostly in looking like an offended teddy bear.  
.  
"Sure, Pete," Clark said brightly and muttered under his breath, "You giant homophobe."

"Hey! I heard that—I am not! I just—just don't want to see you guys kissing, geez, crucify me why don't you…." Pete looked at Clark out of the corner of his eye and worried that maybe Clark meant it and he did know he'd just been kidding right?

Whit broke in, "Hey, don't sweat it Pete, I don't want to see them kissing either. Big fairies." He made a disgusted face and went back to his magazine.

Clark sat a moment and spoke in a voice filled with deep revelation, "That's ‘cause you're jealous. Hey! Maybe Pete's jealous too!"

Lex nodded in agreement, and grinned.

Whit turned his head to Pete who was looking thoughtful. "Do you think I am…could I be jealous? Hmmm—No." and Pete settled back with the air of having given the perfect argument.

Lex laughed and leaned back against Clark's legs. "Nice. Nice day. And Dad's gone for the weekend so I'm feeling pretty good."

"Great! Then you can stay at my house." Clark looked happy and Lex smiled. His boyfriend, a simple man of simple joys. He snickered and Clark whacked him lightly on the shoulder. "You're laughing at me—stop." He said fondly.

Lex laughed harder. He felt good, better than. He waited until Pete looked away and pulled Clark closer to him and kissed him.

"Ew. I heard that."

Whit laughed, "If you think it sounds ew, you should see the look on Kent's face. Hey, Clark do you have any brain cells left?"

Clark just flushed and grinned and Lex thought again—much better than.

~o0o~

Heat—heat and wet and slick slide of skin against skin, breathing, breathing hot breath across his ear, his neck, and electric, sparks hitting low, lightning, more, higher, hotter, tighter, tighter, and—break—break, fall and warm, warm.  
Damn!

Clark shot upright in bed…he groaned. This whole stupid plan of his was killing him. And he was really getting tired of doing laundry. He got out of bed and pulled off his tacky boxers and winced. He only hoped Lex realized it was no picnic for him either, and speaking of Lex, he'd really been putting the pressure on lately and it was scary and cute…and scary how much an obsessive, pushy and sarcastic Lex turned him on. He shook his head and gathered up some dirty clothes to take to the laundry room. Thank god his Mom didn't question his sudden interest in cleanliness. That just wasn't a conversation he wanted with his mother. He figured his dad ran interference for him on that one. Geez. The safe sex talk was enough; he could live his whole life and be ecstatically happy if he never had to hear "condom" and "lubrication" ever come out of his Mom's mouth again—he blushed reliving the experience. Never.

Since he was up and awake, he figured he might as well tackle his chores, another thing never mentioned and for which he was grateful— up all ready son? Yeah Dad, I had this massive boner, and couldn't sleep, so…yeah. Clark grinned to himself, shoved on his boots before heading off to the milking sheds.

A couple of hours later he walked into the kitchen and smiled when he smelled breakfast, grinned when he saw it on the table and his Mom standing at the sink, smiling at him. His dad was seated, drinking a mug of coffee and looking at him over the top of the paper. 

"Up all ready son?"

Clark blushed so deeply he figured he could be seen from space."Unh—yeah, I-I couldn't sleep."

"Oh." His dad returned his attention to the paper, and Clark sat down. "Chores done?" His dad sipped from the mug and fixed Clark with an interested look. 

"Yeah," Clark replied slowly, and shoved a forkful of egg and hash browns in his mouth. He stared back at his dad. 

"Lex." His dad said.

"Mwhah?"Clark choked because for a moment he could have sworn his dad said Sex. He was losing his mind—

His mother cut in, "Lex called. He wants to know if you're coming to get him—he's staying here this weekend. Did you know that?" She eyed him with an interested expression, identical, in fact, to Jonathan's.

"Ah—I was going to ask you today—this morning, if it was okay—I just didn't get a chance." Clark grinned sheepishly at his folks and promised himself to punish Lex severely for getting him in trouble but it did kind of look like they were more amused than mad…smile time? Clark smiled a bit more and his parents smiled back. 

His dad got up and put his empty cup and plate in the sink. "Make sure you clean up the loft, and barn today Clark." He kissed Martha on the cheek and went out the door. His mom sat down and smiled a bit wider and said, "Clark, remember that talk we had not long ago?"

Clark smiled and nodded and managed to make himself stop. Please god, no, no….

~o0o~

Lex put some things in a bag for the weekend. He smiled, feeling a little warm flush sweep through him at the thought of staying with Clark, because this weekend was the weekend. He wasn't taking no anymore. He got it already, yes, trust and love and he knew Clark loved him like breathing and he loved him back—and God help anyone who wanted to get between them because Clark said forever and he believed him and Lex had no idea his teeth were bared in a snarl.

He walked back into the closet when he heard a small noise. It sounded like someone jiggling the handle of his bedroom door. George maybe? He ignored it, and went around to the side of the bed he tended to end up sleeping on and took a small box out of the nightstand. He opened it and blushed, smiled a bit. He pulled a strip of condoms out and a tiny bottle of lube. He was prepared for this. Pretty much. He crammed the strip back into the box with the lube and tossed it into the bag, zipped it up and went to the door. He'd let George know he wouldn't be home until his father came back and he called the Kent home to let Clark know that he was ready.

He hung up the phone with Martha and hissed to himself. Ooo. Awkward. He grinned and lifted his bag and he was falling forward into darkness, a pain shot through his head and there was nothing.

~o0o~

Whit wandered around town for a while, lost and woozy and trying not to cry in the street.

His day had hit the skids from the moment he heard Bill and Abbie yelling in the kitchen that morning. It scared him and his instinct had been to take off running, but Pete had come hurrying up, his eyes big and worried and had crouched down by the closed kitchen door to listen to the sound of his parent's loud voices. Whit felt he had to stay then, make sure Pete was okay. He kept looking at Whit, obviously scared and Whit realized Pete had never heard his parents yell at each other. He'd heard his mother get loud, and his dad had yelled at the kids from time to time, because okay, yes, they could be annoying—but he'd never heard or seen his parents toe to toe screaming at each other. 

Whit closed his eyes to block out the sight of Pete's frightened face. He wanted to laugh. That? That was nothing, wait ‘til they start flinging fists— he wanted to hit Pete. _What the fuck are you afraid of? Damn, it's not like Bill's going to knock her out and then start on you! Not like he's gonna beat you till you vomit and make her watch…._

"Sam had no right! Family should come first! I knew that tramp was going to break up this family! She wants to take him away from us!"

"Abbie god dammit! The boy's old enough to make up his own mind. He's a grown man—let him loose! We can't force him to live the way you want him to—"

"What are you saying –I pushed him into this? Oh, it's my fault again! Go on, say it Bill! Say what you're thinking—blame it all on me!"

"That's all water under the bridge woman, that's old news and it doesn't matter anyway."

 

"You weren't saying that when we were dragging him out of that place, him throwing up and cussin' and fighting us when that –that _monster_ had him! You pointed the finger at me then!"

"What the fuck are you talking about? I was with you every bit of the way, I thought you knew that."

"You blamed me when he ran away and moved in with that—that man. You said I put too much pressure on him—you said I made him run off to live with that bastard."

"I didn't, I said—I said not all the children are the same, you can't treat them all the same—"

The boys heard Abbie crying and that terrified the both of them. "I did push him there. I demanded too much and he was so sensitive and, and…."

"And he thought he was in love. But he got out of it and he found himself in love with this girl and now he's married…that's that and we better get used to it if we want to keep our son.

 

'Sam's married? He married her—- he'd been with a guy— in love with. But there had only been girls,' Whit thought—when did that happen? Whit didn't know what was worse, that Sam was married and Whit had never had a chance or that Sam was married but he might have had a chance—if Whit had known the right thing to say, or the right thing to do. He felt like passing out. He felt cold and clammy all over, cold sweat ran down his neck and he shivered, nearly over balanced from where he was crouching and he felt a warm dry hand on his elbow, keeping him from toppling.

When he opened his eyes again, Pete was still there, his face clear of the fear of a few moments ago, they could hear Bill comforting Abbie—he slowly let go of Whit's elbow, and looked sadly at Whit. He understood.

"Damn. Damn. Sam…I'm pinning Mike down and finding out what this is all about." His eyes narrowed. "Mike knows everything about everybody…"He looked at Whit, "He knows where all the bodies are buried." He nodded to himself and then seemed to remember—"Sorry man."

Whit snarled at him. "Sorry about what? Nothing to be sorry about."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Pete sighed, "I'm going to get dressed. Lana and me have something to do today."

"Yeah, all right." Whit replied he stood. "I'm going out, catch up with Clark maybe, okay? Oh, and Pete?" Pete turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. "Don't go and get married today okay?"

Pete snorted. "Fuck you, man" But he was grinning as he ran back up the stairs. 

Whit walked out to the drive and looked at his car. Shrugged and started walking. 

He felt like someone took a bat to his ribs. He walked and growled and walked and cursed, and ran and cursed everything and everyone especially himself, and ran harder, ran until he panted, harder and harder until it hurt, and his breath was rasping and burning in his throat and his lungs pulsed with the pain, and someone was jabbing him in the side with a hot sword and still he ran until he _had_ to stop, bent over in a field, heart hammering under his ribs. His head hung down and his hands were on his knees, shaking slightly. He gasped in air, smelt sweat and earth and grass, tasted salt as sweat ran into his open mouth and stung his eyes and he couldn't close them, if he did, he'd see….

Control came back in bit-by-bit, breath by breath. He got to his feet, wiping at the sweat running down his face, and began walking again. He knew where he was going, he wasn't sure if it was a good idea, for once he really wasn't sure if it was what he wanted, but he couldn't imagine going to Lex or Clark—not now when they were so happy. He didn't want to bring more of his doom and gloom, more of his fucked up shit into their lives.

That had been his morning and now he was standing in the heat, outside of the building Wade was staying in with his partners, thinking, not quite sure what to do. Should he go in or go back? There'd been a point in Sam's life where he'd stood at this exact same crossroad, Whit knew…had had this very same moment… and made the same choice. 

Whit stepped forward.


	7. Chapter 7

The hallway of the loft was cool compared to the early afternoon sun trying to make the sidewalks combust outside. The brick and granite walls of the stairway felt almost cold to his too hot hands. He wiped his forearm across his sweat damp face, and pounded on the metal door to the loft until the door rolled back on its track.

"Where's Wade?" He asked when Donny's head peeked around the door.

Donny's face creased in annoyance. "What the fuck are you doing here? Did Wade call you?" 

Whit shook his head and tried to look over Donny toward the sound of hammering and a power driver whirring and screeching.

"Hold on," Donny scowled impatiently. He rolled the door shut again and Whit frowned when the heavy lock on the door banged into place. He heard shouting and after a few minutes the door opened and Wade was leaning against the frame, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes narrowed against the smoke.

Whit could see that he must have been asleep, his hair was flattened on one side, tufted on the other, his jeans hastily yanked on, the top button was open, the pants half zipped and they looked too tight, too long, his undershirt was too tight and the hem was wrinkled and rolled up above his navel and Whit was a little hard just looking at him. He was wearing Whit's stuff…stuff he'd left that horrible night he'd gotten sick and was wet and cold and had changed—left his clothes here, and Wade. Wade was wearing his stuff. 

"Whit. Fuck are you doing here?" He frowned at Whit and shifted the cigarette to the corner of his mouth and smoke drifted lazily from his lips and nose like dragon's breath, Whit thought.

"I told you I'd call you when I wanted you." He looked quietly furious, and Whit backed up. Wade stepped out into the hallway and slammed the door shut behind him.

"What the hell do you want?" he growled and Whit felt his hard won control begin to collapse.

"You know, I have no idea—I'm a fuckin' asshole I guess. Let me get the hell out of here." He tried to turn away and Wade was on him, shoving him against the wall. He stared at Whit with empty reptilian eyes—the look from some place Whit didn't want to see or know about because it had to be worse than anything he'd ever been through.

Wade inhaled deeply, and Whit almost laughed at the cartoon image in his mind of the cigarette ash racing toward Wade's lips. 

He threw the butt down the stair well. "Funny?"

He shoved Whit's head with one hand back against the bricks with a crack, while the other stroked his arm lightly. He put more pressure on his throat and Whit wasted air cursing under his breath. 

"What's funny? You don't hear me? You don't care what I say? Is that funny?" 

Whit really needed to breathe; he relaxed himself completely until he was only standing because Wade had his chin in his hand and Wade's body crowded his against the wall. Whit rocked against him and let his knees spread until Wade was pressed hard against him and moving, pushing up. Whit let out a little gasp at the contact, and Wade's eyes were right there, drilling into him. He pushed again and shifted his grip so that he held an arm in each hand and held them flat against the wall, scraping them over the brick with each thrust and rub of his hips against Whit. Whit bit his lip, trying to hold in the sounds that wanted to pour out. 

"Go on. Make noise," Wade whispered harshly, "don't hold it in," and Whit groaned aloud, so loud, the granite and brick bounced it back, bounced it around and he moaned again and again. He was so hard and every push made him jump, it wasn't enough and it was almost more than and he hated himself for wanting it that much. 

His own voice was making him shake, he heard want and need in his voice, in his words and it made him hotter and hotter and Wade cursed—"Fuck Whit, you make me feel—shit! Like a fuckin' kid, can't get—oh fuck…" he groaned a long drawn out moan of a word as Whit felt heat shifting around in his spine and in his gut and he thought, I'm gonna come in my pants— he stretched up high on his toes and Wade rode him, grabbed his ass and ground them together. "I can feel you, I can feel you coming—" 

Wade was a world of white light and heat and moaning in his ear and the broken sound of his own voice pushing him over the edge.

In the next moment Wade pulled him away from the wall—"Inside, now." He dragged Whit into the loft and toward the bedroom and he saw a big—cage, closet, something— in the corner where the big TV had been. Wade grabbed his chin and yanked his head to him. "Don't look around— get in there," and pushed Whit so that he staggered toward the bedroom door and inside. He could hear Frank yelling at Wade and Wade growling back, a minute or two of silence, the buzz of low and angry discussion and then Wade yelled, "My fucking business! Problem?" Silence. Wade again, "You're fucking right."

And then he was in the room; chest heaving and still angry and he jumped onto the mattress and dropped on Whit. He began yanking his shoes off, talking all the while, "You got my back right, Whit?" He dropped the shoes and began pulling at the jeans. "You wouldn't sell me out," he said and dropped the pants on the floor, began jerking at his shirt, "You know I'd kill you if you tried to fuck me over, right?" He flung the shirt into the air and hissed. "You love me right?" Whit stared at Wade open mouthed and nodded because he saw Wade really wanted an answer. "Good. I would, you know, I would kill you." He was almost sobbing and biting his way up Whit's neck and chewing on his neck, biting until Whit cried out in pain.

Wade got up and Whit turned on his side, closed his eyes. He felt the mattress sink with Wade's weight, Wade's hand was on him and turning him, his hand slid up to Whit's throat and pressed lightly as Wade leaned down.

Whit's eyes fell shut…he waited for whatever Wade would do next, he was strung tight as a bow waiting for the grip of his teeth somewhere on his body, prepared for the sting of pain but not for Wade's lips pressing against his. Whit jerked but kept his eyes closed and Wade pressed harder, wanting more, until Whit's mouth opened to him and he kissed Whit like it was never going to happen again—he moaned into Whit's mouth, he gasped and groaned and crawled against Whit. He was nude and hard and pressed against Whit like he was trying to crawl into his skin—and Whit let go.

No more worrying what he was going to do, or if he was giving too much or if he'd be angry—fuck that. Wade was kissing him, kissing him and talking about love and licking and biting down the length of his body—- Whit arched up and Wade pulled back. He looked stunned, as stunned as he'd looked the night Whit had thought he was going to die with him under the wheels of a truck.

Wade's head dropped again to Whit's chest, sucked and bit at his nipples until Whit cried out and planted his feet against the mattress and rocked up, dropped and arched again. Wade panted, "You want me to fuck you? Is that what you want? I—I want to—" He touched Whit, and looked angry and confused and afraid. He asked again, and shook as he traced a line over Whit's thigh and under his hip. His fingers played over Whit, searched between Whit's legs, over the quivering ring of muscle….

Whit flinched. He wasn't sure about this, he'd never done this and as far as he knew Wade hadn't either and why now? Why all of this, and Wade leaned forward. "Please."

Whit shook violently, Wade's finger sank into him bit by bit, he gasped, "Whit," and pushed deeper and groaned. Whit's dick rose and dropped against his stomach and dripped. Wade reached behind him, grabbed and opened a condom. Whit stared as Wade rolled the condom down on his dick.

Wade flexed and hissed "Don't look so hard," he laughed, "you'll make me come." He smeared lube from the wrapper on Whit and pushed his finger back in and watched closely, his dick arching and jerking each time he moved his finger. Whit felt it as a mildly pleasant sensation, but Wade looked like he was about to melt down. 

He grabbed Whit's legs and told him to turn around; Whit rolled over and Wade pulled him to his knees. He stroked him, whispered to him; words Whit couldn't make out and didn't want to know and then he began to push in, slowly carefully. Whit groaned at the sensation, pain, burning, it hurt…Wade groaned and pushed, groaned and eased himself in. "Oh shit—oh shit, Whit, Whit—" Whit felt sweat fall and splash against his back and his muscles jumped and quivered and his ass burnt and he tried to force himself to relax, to take Wade in. "God," Wade groaned. "Can't stop— can't," and he pushed in all the way with a harsh cry. 

Whit broke out in a sweat and tried not to moan in pain. It hurt, it hurt and he didn't like it, but Wade wanted it and pushed again—Wade cried out again as Whit couldn't help but clamp down at the push, and he felt Wade twitch inside him. 

He pulled out, slid back in and did it again. "Whit fuck—I can't wait, I – I—" and he pushed in, a violent quick snap, again, and again and Whit's dick wilted completely as he concentrated on not yelling. 

Wade babbled and fucked him and cried out and reached around, slowed when he found Whit was soft. "I'm hurting you," he panted." You don't want me—"

He pulled out or tried to but Whit stopped him, "No—I do want it, please, please fuck me," and Wade groaned deep in his chest and pushed in again, in and out and fisted Whit's dick until they were panting and gasping together. 

It felt different, and he listened to Wade's harsh pants and saw Sam, fucking himself in the dark and moaning _touch me—_ Whit cried out at the memory, cried out at the sudden flash of electricity firing in his nerves and his dick surged to fullness in Wade's hand.

Wade laughed breathily, "I did something—let me," and he hit the spot again, and again Whit cried out and Sam in his mind was staring at him and begging him to fuck him and coming, striping his belly—Whit groaned low, and then louder and louder and came in Wade's hand. Wade shouted "Whit!" and came, pulled into orgasm along with him.

~o0o~

Wade got off the mattress and looked down on Whit, lying flat and still breathing heavily. He pulled the condom off and tossed it. Yanked a pair of jeans out of the pile on the floor and pulled them on, looked around for his smokes as he did. Whit shifted and sighed, but he was asleep and Wade was glad. He didn't want to look in his goddamn fresh, all-American, teen face right now. He looked so fucking innocent and clueless.

Wade dropped down in the corner of the room and sucked smoke into his lungs until they burned, and looked at his hands hanging loose over his knees. _Fucker. Fucker._ How the hell did this happen to him…  
Whit. Innocence all burned out of him. Between his fucking dad and—and him, they took care of that. Fuckin' Whit just let it all happen, _yeah, Wade, whatever you say Wade, you want me to blow everyone in the room, okay, you wanna choke me, okay, beat me, sure._ "Fucker." 

It was all Whit's fault. 

If he'd never met Whit, he wouldn't be in this room right now with a fucked-out kid on the bed and murder in his heart. He wouldn't be about to commit a major crime, trying to get enough to take Whit away with him so they could live together forever, happy—no one else could ever hurt them again. And Whit would look at him and there'd be nothing but love in his eye, no fear, ever again….

Wade dropped his head and hated himself for loving the boy. A _boy._ That boy. Fuck. He could be free of all of this. He stood and looked down at Whit. He held his hands out and imagined thinning them…slipping them in Whit's chest, touch his heart, like he'd done to Whit's dad. One quick squeeze and the heart would shudder to a stop in his hand, and he'd be deep inside Whit, deep enough to stop these fucked up feelings maybe. Deep enough to save himself. God. He should kill himself and save Whit. 

"Oh fuck—" Whit was going to kill him. He was going to die loving Whit—and a long blade of ice slid in between his shoulder blades.

"Wade! Come on damn it!" 

Wade shuddered and came back to himself. "Yeah, coming." He pulled a shirt out of the pile and dropped down on his knees, kissed Whit on the back of his neck. "Everything I do, I do for you." He jumped up and walked out of the room. Quietly shut the door and locked it before leaving.

~o0o~

Clark struggled to keep the grin off his face. This was going to be the best weekend ever. He knew that because he had plans and the time was right. Clark blushed and adjusted himself quickly. Wow, it was hot in the cab, he thought and tried to keep his mind from going where it wanted to. Dangerous thoughts, Clark grinned. He reached across the seat and swerved a bit trying to roll down the window on Lex's side and let a little air in the hot interior. He blushed deeper and grinned again. Lex's side. Yeah.

The truck bounced over the bumps at the end of the drive and squeaked loudly in protest. He turned the radio up louder to cover the varied noises of the ancient truck and tried to find something decent to listen to. He was _not_ going to think about a new truck—every penny was going to his college fund and there was no way he could afford another vehicle. Besides this one was just fine, it just didn't have any of what his Dad called ‘bells and whistles', like air conditioning and a cd player, and, well, just a decent radio…and God bless duct tape…of course, as soon as Lex came into his money all that was going to change. He'd have a brand new top of the line truck, and a brand new wardrobe, and haircuts not from Supercuts, and a whole lot of other stuff he could care less about either. None of that was important to him, but it was to Lex so he tried not to make fun of it….

He yanked hard on the wheel to avoid a bunch of idiots in a van who swerved toward his lane, driving way too damn fast. Clark slowed and pulled close to the shoulder, his heart beating a little faster. Idiots. If they'd run into him they could have killed themselves. He waited a beat until he was back in control and drove on, and soon was pulling up in the drive of the hideous pile of stone Lex reluctantly called home.

He pounded on the door and waited for George to answer. He knew that George knew full well that he was at the door; the place had cameras all over it. George just liked being an ass, he guessed. Clark waited, and waited, and pounded harder and almost forgot himself in his increasing annoyance and pounded too hard. By now, Lex had to have heard him. Why wasn't he answering? Somebody answering?

Clark relaxed and let control of his alien-self ease somewhat—felt the little shift behind his eyes as he concentrated and the wall in front of him wavered and thinned and he could see a form collapsed on the floor. He snapped back to himself, grabbed the doorknob and pulled it out of the door, kicked the door back on the frame and ran inside. 

He knew the person on the floor was George, he'd seen that before he cleared the threshold but there was no one else in the house—no Cook, no Lex—

George moved and gasped in pain, came up off the floor with his hands gripping his chest. Clark dropped next to him. "What happened, do you need an ambulance—George? Are you okay?"

"Lex!" he gasped, "Someone stole—took Lex—" He grimaced in pain. "They did something to me, I don't know what." 

Clark leaped up. "We've got to call the police, now! When did this happen?" Clark mused aloud as he went for the phone, "He called my mom. It can't have been too long ago…."

"No!" George shouted and climbed shakily to his feet. "No police, Sir would kill me—I have to call Mr. Luthor." He staggered to the phone and Clark stared, stunned and disbelieving. "But—but—the police? They'll know what to do—"

"No, absolutely not!" George snapped. "I know what he wants." He paused and then answered what must have been a question. "Yes, damn it, it is an emergency. Sir? Sir, there's been an intrusion. The boy's been taken." George's honey skin paled to a sickly yellow and he slumped slightly before standing again. "Yes Sir, I understand." he said firmly, showing no sign of the shock of a moment ago. "I'll be waiting." He turned to Clark. "The situation is under control. I suggest you go now." 

_"What's_ under control? I don't understand—you're saying Lex has been kidnapped and you're not _doing_ anything about it?"

"Mr. Luthor has resources the Smallville police department does not. He has everything under control. He's an extremely wealthy businessman. He has contingency plans in place for any possible event." George moved purposefully toward the door and pinned Clark with his eyes. 

_"Event!"_ Clark yelled "Event—Lex is gone, that's not a fucking event! That's a goddamn nightmare!" 

George had pulled his normal sarcastic persona about himself again. He raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. Said, "Mr. Luthor will be gratified to know Lex's welfare means so much to you. Now, if you please, he'll be here with his team in a short while and I know you don't want to be in the way?" George stood by the open doorway and looked pointedly down the drive towards Clark's truck with a slight lift of his lip. 

Clark glared daggers at George but he left. He had no right to interfere and no right to stay if he wasn't welcome. He drove away, pushing the truck to its limits as he raced down the road to Pete's. He needed help and he could get it from the guys. Screw Lex's dad—they'd find him themselves.

 

An hour later found Clark still in the truck, driving around the town debating with himself, and working himself into a panic. Whit was gone, no one knew where. Pete had gone to the city with Lana to visit Mike. He wasn't going to call him; he didn't want to worry Pete or mess up his good time. He also didn't want to tell his parents, not just yet, because they'd be sure to hold him back, not want him to get angry or afraid and reveal his secret. 

Secret, fucking secret, blah, blah blah—he hated the fucking secret—The Secret was a fucking monster that had a choke hold over every fucking aspect of his life…Crap. Fear for Lex was making it difficult to think straight. What could he do? Who would do such a thing? Who would be stupid enough to take on Luthor, what crackhead would think they could get away—Clark froze. _Oh shit._

No—no…no way. Not even that _ass_ could be that stupid.

What if Whit was with them? What if Lionel found them?

Clark silently freaked out. _I've got to find them first. Oh my god, I've got to find them before Lex's dad does._

~o0o~

Lionel stepped back and searched the house with his eyes as the helicopter took off from the pad. George stood at the French doors and waited. Even at this distance Lionel could see his body language radiated fear and subservience. Good. He strode forward and a group of men in very casual clothes followed him as one. He passed George and handed him his briefcase.

"Make everyone comfortable in the study. I'll freshen up first."

George nodded a little too quickly and Lionel smiled and signaled for the group to go ahead of him. He could feel the unease pouring off of George. 

"George?" 

"Yes Sir," he snapped to attention in a most military way.

"I want you to run my bath for me—set out my clothes—and have Cook send a sandwich or something light to my room."

George breathed a small sigh of relief and "Yes, sir, very good sir," he replied.

"And George?" 

George's heart plummeted. "Sir?"

"You may remain in the kitchen."

George didn't trust himself to speak. He nodded and went to do as he was told. He was filled with irrational hatred for the boy. He'd had to go and get himself kidnapped while his father was gone—couldn't happen when the old bastard was home, no, it had to be now. And now George was going to pay and it wasn't fair. It never was fair, and a whisper of sympathy for the boy snuck in. Lex always took the brunt of Sir's displeasure, now it was his turn. 

Well, with luck they'd find him soon.

~o0o~

Lionel watched the man who sat hunched over the laptop at the monstrous mahogany desk, lit by the screen in front and the red and violet stained glass of the study windows behind him. He hummed and tapped, waited, tapped again and hummed. He snorted briefly and tapped again, waited before turning to Lionel, who sipped a brandy and watched the performance with a mildly amused air.

"Here it is." The man gestured at the screen. "Loft apartment in the warehouse district. Smallville's ‘art' district, I guess."

"Good, well done." Lionel remarked shortly, impatient with the man's unasked for commentary. He put his brandy down and flipped thorough the papers on his desk—reading again the ransom note sent to him. He was appalled at the kidnappers lack of professionalism; they obviously had never done this before. Such a lack of stealth, common sense and basic intelligence. Rather surprising considering their bold move. After all, information was available on the Luthorcorp site that detailed exactly how they dealt with kidnapping and similar situations —No mercy, no quarter, and no hostages. Of course, there was a difference in this instance. This was no simple hostage situation. This was his beloved son and heir. He sighed. These problems took time away from his business, things that were…well. Certainly not more important than Lex.

He looked at the men standing around the room. They looked ready for anything, he thought. Very well trained. And they should be, he spent enough money on them.

"Horst," He gestured at the screen. "What do you think?"

The huge brunette examined the information and nodded. "Two—three men, besides the hostage. Acceptable casualties?"

A man of few words, Horst. "Any—all if need be." The man didn't even so much as raise an eyebrow. Horst was a treasure, no doubt. Worth every cent he'd paid for him. He left them to their planning; he had no doubt that Horst's plan would be efficient and workable. Lionel looked at his watch. When they began the implementation of whatever he decided, he'd give them an hour or two before calling the police. That should clear everything up nicely, and give him time to either be the triumphant and joyful father at his son's return, or be grieving and horror-struck at his offspring's untimely demise. He shrugged to himself. Whatever will be….

Lionel stopped in the hall and removed a cane from the umbrella stand near the foyer. Time to visit George in the kitchen. He was certain the idiot would be waiting. The power of dependency could never be underestimated.

~o0o~

Lex bounced violently from side to side and gasped for breath. It was unbearably hot under the hood and hard to breathe, his arms and wrists hurt so badly. He heard voices but they were muffled and his head pounded so that he could barely make out the words. His stomach flipped every time the vehicle lurched, and he prayed desperately not to throw up inside the hood.

The drive went on and on, it felt like hours passed before the vehicle stopped and he was dragged out. He bit his lip to keep from screaming, it felt like they were trying to pull his arms out of the sockets and then he was in—somewhere. 

He heard a noise like someone pounding on the wall, or a door and yelling and then he was falling and he hit concrete so hard his teeth snapped shut and every bone in his body creaked from the impact. There was a moment of quiet, his head was swimming and then the hood was yanked off.

"Fuckin'—why'd you take the hood off, asshole?"

Lex saw a young man's face before him, eyes wide and just starting to look…afraid. Dark hair fell into the guy's eyes and his mouth worked briefly. A hand came down and shoved the guy away and his face was replaced with that of an older guy's, a blonde with a permanent sneer on his lips.

"So, Richie Rich, how the fuck are ya?" He laughed at his joke and looked Lex over. "None too worse for the wear. We wanna give you back to your old man in one piece, right?"

Lex felt the blood drain from his face. Kidnapping? What—he let his eyes close and tried to swallow. The only question he had was who was going to kill him first, these clowns or his dad. He opened his eyes again and looked past the guy in front of him to another guy in the shadows, a stocky guy…familiar…the guy turned and Lex gasped. "Wade?"

Wade leaned over Blonde Guy and spoke quietly, so that only Lex and Blonde could hear. "Lex. You're smart. You've seen our faces." He spread his hands apart and shrugged. "Nothing personal."

~o0o~

Whit banged on the door again. Fucking Wade—what the hell was his deal?

Damn it. Whit dropped down onto the mattress again and stirred through the pile of clothes, looking for his shirt. He was hungry and angry at being locked in like a pet dog or something. He heard the metal door roll open and some commotion out in the main part of the loft and then the door was opening and Wade was standing there. He looked mildly surprised. "You're still here?" 

Whit looked at him like he was crazy—where the hell was he supposed to be, locked in and all?

Wade shook his head. "It should still be in you—maybe not. Don't pay attention to me," Wade mumbled, "I don't know what I'm doing anymore." He kept walking around the room and Whit kept twisting to keep him in sight.

"You wanna go to California with me?" Wade asked suddenly. Whit kept his eyes on his face, trying to pick up some clue as to what was going on in Wade's head. "We're thinking of going there after—later. We could get a place together, just you and me, not those assholes. We could live…nice. Get a house, maybe live on the beach. That'd be cool right? Swimming whenever we want, doing whatever we want—we're going to have so much money no one can tell us what to do."

Wade wandered closer and Whit relaxed enough to actually think about it. Sam was gone; out of his reach and maybe…maybe that wasn't a bad thing. Lex had never even been an option; he was spoken for a long time ago. Maybe if it were just him and Wade it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd be better if they got out of Smallville. It just might be different if they were in California. Wade could be okay. He'd just be careful not to get on his nerves and Wade would be good. 

Wade pulled Whit up to him and snarled. "I don't understand why it's got to be you. You did something to me; you put some kind of spell on me." He rubbed Whit's shoulders slowly and turned him around to face the wall he'd been backing them slowly up to." You messed up something in me. I was happy the way I was…now, I hurt all the time. It's you, I think…."

Whit cringed as Wade worked his jeans down and rubbed his palms over his ass, up over his ribs, and dragging them back down to clasp his ass, squeeze… okay, just breathe and think about something else, Whit told himself. It'll get better…He heard the small sound of plastic ripping and shut his eyes.

Wade bit and sucked at his shoulder and Whit tried to think of Sam—or Lex, Clark—

Wade groaned against his back and rubbed the head of his dick over Whit's tightly clenched hole. He couldn't relax and Wade was going to get angry—Wade stopped pushing and stood still, tracing the W on Whit's lower back over and over, his finger moving softly, gently over the lines." Mine," he whispered. "Means you belong to me, all of you is mine." 

He bent and began tracing the tattoo just as lightly with his tongue, whispering into his back. 

Oh no, Whit thought, and Oh! Yes. Slow and warm, the slick slide of his tongue getting warmer and wetter as he traced. So soft, almost gentle — it reminded him of a Wade from long, long ago, when he was still in school, when he'd thought he had a real future ahead of him.

Whit felt his dick begin to rise a little and Wade touched him, cradled his dick in his broad rough palm and licked lower and lower. Whit bent more and more and spread his legs, dropping his head onto his folded arms, he braced himself against the wall. He panted and moaned. It felt amazing and he couldn't believe Wade was doing this, just, licking his ass. He trembled from head to toe as Wade pushed his tongue in, he felt the muscle spasm and open with the sensation and Wade stood, grabbed his hips and slid his dick in and it was better….

"Whit, Whit," Wade chanted softly and pushed in, pulled out and rubbed his thumbs hard over the W, pressing down harder with each pass until Whit groaned helplessly and pumped his hips, his dick drooled long strands of precome steadily, the pressure against his back was close to painful and just what Whit needed. He pushed back on Wade and began fucking himself. It was good, great, wonderful, and Wade kept hitting that spot that made his brain fracture, his nerves thrum with electricity. 

Wade was panting loud, growling, moaning, cursing and thrust harder. Whit reached down between his legs and pumped once, twice and he was coming before he knew it, and Wade yelped and ground his teeth together in Whit's shoulder as he came with him. 

Blinking up out of a deep, heavy feeling of lazy warmth, Whit became aware of someone pounding on the door, someone yelling, "Get out here, the fuckin' kid's having a fit—says his dad's not going to pay a ransom. He says he'll kill us all!"

Whit turned his head toward Wade and gasped," What? What kid, Wade? Oh god, oh no, tell me you didn't!"

Wade pulled out and looked away from Whit. "Don't worry about it. Lie down and shut up. I'll take you home later."

Whit turned to face him and leaned his shoulders against the wall, still panting, "Please Wade—- it's not Lex, right? It's not him, tell me."

Wade looked at him "Why? Why worry? We get the money and we let him go, no big deal."

"You're lying," Whit stated flatly. "You're lying to me."

Wade took a step forward and slapped Whit, grabbed his chin in a painfully hard grip and squeezed. "Lie down. Shut up," he hissed. He discarded the rubber, dropped his hands and pulled his jeans back over his hips, re-zipped as he cursed steadily and Whit still stood, blood running down his chin. 

Wade jerked his head around. "Stop fucking looking at me like that. I told you— it'll be okay and when we're done you're coming with me. I'm the one person who cares enough to do anything for you, don't ever forget that. Did Lex stop your father from hurting you? Clark? No—I did. I did it for you—they didn't. So do what I tell you. Don't make me— _fuck!_ Fuck!" He yelled and kicked violently at the wall and marched out of the room. He slammed the door shut, locked it again, and Whit heard them leave the apartment. He figured they must have taken Lex, and then he heard a small thin voice, cursing, cursing and sounding close to tears. 

"Lex—" Whit hastily threw his clothes on and threw himself at the door, yelling for Lex at the top of his lungs and silence and then—

"Whit! Whit, what the fuck—help me—are you okay?"

Damn it damn it! He had to get to Lex somehow, someway…. And then it hit him, what Wade had said, his surprise that Whit was still… _You're still here? It should still be in you—maybe not._ "Wade, you bastard fucker…."

Whit remembered the truck barreling down on them, and the feeling that took him and he struggled to regain that feeling— _slow down, slow down_ he told himself, _feel it, feel it,_

He leaned against the door and begged that for once something go his way—he searched inside himself and felt a little—tickle, a buzz, he tried to feel it deeper, he turned inward and touched that feeling and he heard the roar of the truck engine and the euphoria of that moment and—he was face first outside the door.

Whit was dazed, unbelieving for a moment. His nose hurt, scraped from hitting the floor, and then it hit him. It worked! He went through the door! 

Whit jumped to his feet and ran to the closet the guys had built, yanked on the door—it was locked of course, but—

Lex was panting, Whit could hear the harsh intake and exhale of breath through the door. "Whit—Whit, these idiots, they've killed us all," Lex moaned.

Whit peered into the small opening in the door, trying to make out Lex's face in the gloom inside the cell. Tears ran down Lex's face. "My dad is not going to save us. He doesn't give a flying fuck about me—he'll kill me before he pays a cent to these assholes. You've got to escape before they get back!"

Whit hesitated for a second and then admitted, "I'm not a prisoner. I'm here because I want to be here, Lex." 

"Whit, god dammit, you fucking stubborn fool. You know he's going to kill you some day. Why do you keep coming to him?"

"You don't know him like I do. Now quiet, I'm going to try and get this door open."

Lex leaned his head against the door and sobbed and Whit felt his heart break. It wasn't his fault—but he felt like it was his fault. Wade…he'd been with him on and off forever…since he was thirteen. Was…Lex was _wrong_ Wade wouldn't hurt him…really bad. He wouldn't He told him he loved him. _Yeah. After five years and a million blowjobs and a thousand slaps and punches and being pimped out and made to be his mule and fuck, fuck *fuck* me!_ Whit slapped himself he was so angry.

"What, Whit, you okay—"

"Yeah. Lex shut up and let me try—"

"What the motherfuck are you doing, boy?" Wade was in the doorway, bags of fast-food in his hand. "What the fuck?" He was red with fury, and he flung the bags into the doorway. Milkshake cups burst open and sprayed the floor. Strawberry, Whit noted inanely, my favorite and then his head exploded with stars and blood filled his mouth.

It was quiet for a moment, nothing but ringing in his ears, then suddenly sound came rushing back. "Stop, stop it" he heard Lex scream, and then the world blew apart; noise, noise coming from everywhere, bullets were flying and Donny coughed a spray of blood and dropped to the ground. The hole in his back was huge and Frank yelled out and pulled his own firearm and one of the three black clad figures falling into the room from the shattered window dropped, head an unrecognizable mess. 

Whit was screaming at Lex get down, get down, his mouth coppery with blood and fear, his heart was pounding and when Wade was suddenly in his view again he flinched and nearly screamed— Wade swung him around and pushed him flat to the ground.

~o0o~

Clark parked away from the busy part of town and sat in the truck. He leaned his head back against the seat, closed his eyes and relaxed, calmed himself as best he could and concentrated on the one sound he'd never mistake for anything else, the sound of Lex's heartbeat.

Nothing at first, and he had to control his anxiety. _Lex, Lex, where are you—_ he stopped. Took a breath and tried again. Lex. There. Faint, but…Lex. He jumped out of the truck and willed himself to walk normally as he pinpointed the direction. _Okay, there he is_ He glanced about quickly to make sure no one was about and then he ran flat out. No enjoyment of it this time—he didn't care about observing life slowing outside his bubble of time—it wasn't filled with silence now, it was filled with the sound of his breath rushing in and out of his lungs, the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest, and the sound of Lex's heart, beating faster and louder the closer Clark got. He came to a dead halt outside of a recently renovated factory, and he heard screaming now, Lex and—and Whit… and Wade.

Clark ran forward and skidded across a sea of broken glass; he looked up and saw figures climbing into a smashed open window. 

He inhaled deeply, flexed his legs and leaped straight up three floors and grabbed the edge of the window. Horribly, weirdly, he began to laugh, breathy and creaky but he laughed—he felt like Tom Cruise or somebody, some action hero flying in to the rescue— _oh god, I'm losing it, Lex needs me, pull yourself together_ he yelled silently at himself.

He launched himself through the window, rolling across the floor. The first thing he saw clearly was Lex, open mouthed and staring at him in fear, shock and dawning hope.

~o0o~

Lex cried out in wonder, Clark! Clark was here—but what about the police, where were they? He watched in terror as Big Blonde dropped, shot by another man dressed in what looked like a military uniform and he saw Wade leap forward with a hard grin on his face and–and push his arm into the man's chest….

Lex shook his head and backed away, moving his hands as if to sweep away the vision of Wade pulling his arm out of the man's chest and holding a lumpy, dripping, thing in his hand. The man dropped, and Wade whipped around and grabbed Lex, breathed in his ear. "I always hated you, you little fuck. I'd have killed you a long time ago, but Whit—" he laughed harshly. "It doesn't matter now." 

Lex felt something icy-cold and so fucking painful push against his chest, he felt icy tendrils slide into him and drag pain in with it, and he looked down to see Wade's fingers disappearing inside his chest. In some corner of his mind he knew Whit and Clark were yelling for him but then it was too dark and cold to move anymore.

Whit screamed, "No, please no, Wade, don't— don't!" and jumped in front of Wade. "Take me, kill me instead please, don't kill Lex!"

"How about this," Wade asked with manic cheerfulness, his face split in a huge smile and his eyes wetly glistening, "How about I kill you first and then Lex?" He dropped Lex and reached for Whit. Just as Clark caught Lex, Wade pushed his hand into Whit's chest and Whit screamed, an impossibly loud, high, searing sound that scraped down Clark's spine and brought Lex back out of his faint.

Whit's eyes were wide and he grabbed Wade's shoulders, his mouth open on a scream that rose higher and higher and higher. Wade's first flush of rage and euphoria died—he looked at his hand in Whit's frantically working chest and choked in fear and yanked it out. Whit's eyes rolled up, he convulsed and dropped when Wade let him slip out of his grip.

Wade dropped to the ground next to Whit, moaning, begging him to please not die. 

Clark grabbed Lex and said, "I've got to get you out," and as he tried to move towards the door, bullets sprayed the room. Lex knew he and Clark were about to die. He felt horribly sad, sadder than ever in his short life, sad that he made Clark come here to die. Clark didn't deserve it—he locked eyes with him. "I love you—" Lex began, Clark staggered and threw his arms around him, curled over him and bullets rocked them back and back and then silence so complete Lex's first thought was that he'd gone deaf. When he could think again, move his mouth and limbs, he gasped in shocked surprise, "I'm—we're not dead."

Clark looked down at the ring of flattened bits of metal all around them. "No," he said wryly. He turned away and Lex saw that Clark's back was patterned with round bruises, his shirt charred and shredded.  
They weren't dead because Clark…Clark had stopped the bullets….

The man who'd been shooting at them was trying to reload and Wade jumped up and ran at him. Wade shimmered as he ran and Lex swore he could see the wall through Wade's body and then Wade was…was diving into the guy, he was ripping right through him and then he…stopped. The boys could hear wet cracking noises and the shooter shrieked once, and Wade was…Wade was trapped halfway inside the man. His face was a mask of agony—he was, they were, twisted bone and flesh and blood. Blood everywhere. 

Lex crammed his hands against his mouth, prayed the image wouldn't stalk his dreams forever and before he could blink, the twisted, half-melded bodies toppled out the window, overbalanced by Wade's rush to attack. They dropped three stories to the ground.

Clark ran and leaped out of the window and Lex staggered, nearly fainted in horror. "Clark!"

Lex ran to the window, looked down to see Clark standing on the ground below, whole. Clark was fine. Lex's knees gave way and he dropped to the floor.

~o0o~

Clark landed next to the horrible melded form; horror that compounded when he saw Wade was still alive.

"Please," Wade gasped, "pull—" and he raised the one hand that was free. Clark grimaced and grabbed the blood-slicked hand and pulled. He felt resistance at first and then Wade moved, kind of slithered loose to lay, twisted, torn, on the concrete. He groaned, looked up at Clark and his eyes rolled toward the window. They were fixed on the window, and tears he seemed unaware of rolled down his cheeks. His breath hissed in and out quick and rough. He whispered, "I wanted…" He shivered and was gone.

Clark was paralyzed. He'd never seen a dead person; he'd never seen anyone die before. He backed away from Wade, shaking his head, just…shaking. Wade's body was twisted and torn; he looked like the fall might have killed him—if he'd fallen from a hell of a lot higher than this building. He saw Lex's paper white face at the window and snapped back to reality. 

He dashed up the stairs, not willing to take any more chances at getting caught.

Back in the room, Lex was on the floor with Whit's head in his lap. Clark was relieved to see tears running steadily from Whit's eyes. Lex shook his head. "He's going to be alright, I think. We just need to get out of here."

Clark nodded and looked around at the death and destruction. "What are we going to do about all this? How can we hide the fact we were here? I don't want to, I _can't_ answer a lot of questions and stuff…."

"Don't worry, my dad will take care of it," Lex said grimly and at Clark's look he laughed bitterly, "Oh not for me, for his own sake." He snorted and kept on stroking the hair back from Whit's forehead. 

Whit turned eyes to Clark, mumbled roughly, "He's dead right?"

Clark nodded and Whit shook and tried not to sob aloud. "He tried to kill Lex," and Clark thought with anger and a touch of sorrow _and you,_ but said nothing. 

Whit pushed himself away from Lex. "Did, did he say anything?" he demanded. "Did he say anything at the…the end?"

Clark swallowed hard. "Yeah, he…he said he loved you." 

Whit nodded and walked to the door. "Let's get the fuck out of here." He looked at the splash of milkshake against the wall, the pink streaked through with red. "God, let's get the fuck out of here."

~o0o~

**JUNE**  
In true Smallville fashion nothing came of the kidnapping. Lionel's cleaners made sure the scene reflected nothing of what had happened there. Nothing was left, just an empty loft with no sign of anyone ever having lived there. Everything was wiped clean, turned to dust, lives that never were. Lionel disappeared them all to non-existence.  
In the end, Lionel's biggest regret was that he couldn't bring Horst back to life and kill him again. Defeated by a bunch of children. How the fuck was that possible? He brooded and scowled for days after. All that money, all that time. How could Horst have failed? He fired the rest of the team and wasted more money assembling an efficient, better-trained team. The episode saved him money and cost him money. Life, Lionel thought, and shook his head.

Lex walked past the study and Lionel glared at him. Ungrateful—simply ungrateful. And he was sure that Lex was hiding something from him.

"Lex," he called out—no response but George appeared in the doorway. Looking at him, Lionel felt some small measure of satisfaction when he took in the split lip and swollen eye. It didn't matter that there was nothing on any camera on the property, no sign of break in—he really didn't care that George could have done nothing to prevent the event. It gave him satisfaction. It had just been George's turn. And now….

"George, send Lex to me please."

George nodded and dipped his head before turning away. George walked the hall, with ‘bastard, bastard, bastard' ringing in his mind with each step. He licked his lip and grimaced at the metallic taste. That shouldn't have been his pain. It wasn't right. And now that this whole thing was over and put to rest, he should be treated better and he wasn't. Sir was still angry.

He knocked sharply on Lex's door. Brat. "Your father wishes to see you, Lex." Maybe everything would even out after Lionel met with Lex. He hoped so. He wasn't sure he could take much more.

~o0o~

Clark lay on the loft floor and sighed, watching dust motes dance in the breeze he made. He was out of sorts and frustrated and disappointed. He hadn't spoken to Lex since after they'd made it home. Lex had been whisked away and Clark had not heard a word came from him since. And it wasn't just Lex—Whit hadn't returned any of his calls. According to Pete, he had locked himself in his room and wouldn't come out. Pete was frantic, and since they'd told him what had happened, he was afraid for Whit. He told Clark he was trying to run interference for Whit with his folks, but sooner or later…Clark groaned. They were going to have to come up with a plausible reason why Whit was in an enormous tailspin. Crap.

Clark could understand why the guy was falling apart, he'd lost everything he'd ever had, his home—such as it was, his dad, mom, the team—any chance he might have had at a scholarship thanks to that ass-hole Wade dragging him out of school whenever he wanted him—-Clark winced a little in guilt, the vision of Wade broken on the ground making him shiver. 

The only thing Whit had ever really had that was any good was the Ross family and thank god for that at least. Clark sighed. Yeah, the Rosses and that jerk Wade. He'd never been sure if Whit really loved Wade or not, but even so he'd been with him so long and been through so much shit with him and that had to be something like love…. A little rush of sorrow for Whit swept over him. Clark blinked hard. He didn't regret telling Whit that Wade said he loved him…and any way, he was pretty certain that's what Wade had meant at the end. What did it hurt to let Whit think that?

He scraped idly at the floor, absentmindedly peeling thin strips from the wooden floorboards, and pulling them apart in his fingers. Lex hadn't called, hadn't spoken to Pete. Clark worried his thumb, chewing away in thought. No word, no note, nothing—and he was pretty sure he knew why, and this time no amount of blinking kept a hot tear from rolling down into his ear.

He sighed again, his breath catching in his throat, and wished he'd never shown Lex he wasn't normal—not human. But then again—Clark turned to his side and pillowed his head on his arm—then again, if he had been just human, Lex would be dead now. His beautiful Lex would be still and cold and never feel anything again—and he knew, no matter the consequence, he'd do it over again and over again, forever if he had to. He'd rather lose Lex than let him die. He'd rather die himself before letting harm come to Lex. 

Footsteps creaked on the wooden stair and for a second he was thrilled and then his mother's voice called for him. He couldn't mask the disappointment he felt and his mom looked so understanding that his stomach clenched.

"Clark."

"Mom," he started and gritted his teeth to keep from embarrassing himself. He was _not_ going to cry in front of his mom. He was too damn old for that.

She stood at the top of the stair looking at him and he had a flash of what he must look like, laying on the floor, red-eyed and clutching a pillow to his chest like a big girl, and–and…oh. He realized he was surrounded by a ring of pulverized floorboards. _Crap, guess I'll be sanding the floor. Again._

"Did you and Lex have a fight?" She looked so concerned that he found himself nodding.

"Yeah, kind of. Mom…" He stopped, took a deep breath, hoped to god she'd understand and began again. "Mom…Lex knows. Kind of."

She gasped and looked shocked but Clark had to give her credit, she recovered quickly. "Okay. Okay, Clark. We knew there'd come a time you'd need to tell someone, someday…." She almost managed to keep her voice from cracking, but her fingers were wound tightly together.

"I haven't actually told him anything in words yet. He kind of saw—something," Clark finished weakly. No way was he telling his parents everything that happened. He couldn't, they'd be furious with him—and he guessed, rightly so. "I think maybe he didn't react to it well. Actually I have no idea, because he hasn't talked to me since he saw—the thing. He saw. When he saw it." Clark made a conscious effort to stop his mouth from moving and blurting out words and finally looked his mother in the face. 

She was ghost white and her mouth was open in horror and Clark felt a hot burst of anger. "He's not going to say anything, Mom," he almost shouted. "He's Lex. I mean, if anyone knows how to keep a secret, it's Lex. Shit." He knew his expression had gone from angry teen to put out little kid, and it made him even angrier, but it seemed to help his mother regain control, and she even did that frown thing that tried not to be a smile, just a little, and Clark blushed. He did not just say shit in front of his mother…he totally just cursed in front of his mother. 

"Clark," she said quietly, and he blushed more. "It's okay, she continued." I'm sorry." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm truly sorry that you've both had to carry so much, so young for such heavy burdens, and Lex must have been confused by what he saw, and what you said—"

Clark coughed, looked aside and impossibly, flushed a bit more.

"Hon, do you have any idea how he feels about it? Have you tried explaining to him how _you_ feel?" She shook her head and went on, "Clark—you didn't say anything to him at all?"

Clark stuttered, "Well, I'm trying to give him space to make up his own mind about all this."

"Oh! I see. In other words, you haven't even tried to talk to him. Clark, sweetie, one word. 'Idiot'." Clark looked at his mother in shock, but she waved him off and said, "Yes, that would be you dear. Unless he asked you to give him space, he's probably doing the same thing you are—sitting alone and cry—feeling sad. You know he can be kind of stubborn when his feelings are hurt." 

Clark looked somewhat hopeful. "Maybe I should call him—go see him, talk to him?"

Martha smiled. "You should go now."

"Mom, about the telling thing—"

"We can talk about that later, Clark."

~o0o~

Martha watched her son burst out through the barn doors eager to get to Lex. Those were two stubborn boys, she thought to herself. They were alike in so many ways—eager to help friends, faithful to a fault, so easily hurt. Both of them had so much to offer the world, she knew. Both of them were so intense, but Lex worried her sometimes. He seemed always to be on the edge of—of something. He was an altogether charming, endearing kid, a loving kid, but deep inside, he had a little core of ice that not even Clark seemed to be able to thaw.

She frowned. Lionel had a lot to do with that. No, he had everything to do with that. That coldness wasn't natural to him. It was learned—taught to him by that miserable excuse for a human being. Lionel Luthor was a cold, bitter and evil man. Not the man that should be raising a sensitive person like Lex by any stretch of the imagination. She made her mind up that if she and Jonathan needed to interfere, they would. That old bastard would find out Lex wasn't alone, not by far.


	8. Chapter 8

"Lex." His name slid out of his dad's mouth like a snake. Lex waited, eyes on the floor as he tried to think a step ahead of his dad's next move.

Lionel moved out from behind the monstrous mahogany desk and walked towards him, colors shifting over his skin as he moved past the stained glass windows. He really looks like the devil, Lex thought as his dad moved towards him, so smooth and silent, like his body moved along on a pool of oil instead of human legs. Lionel came to a stop and Lex told himself, breathe, breathe and concentrate on the man's chin, don't look at his eyes—"Good. Show no fear." Lionel sounded faintly pleased as he walked behind him and Lex felt the unpleasant sensation of his dad's hot breath sweeping over the back of his head. His dad was too close, but if he moved, he'd lose…not the war, a skirmish, but still….

Lionel began speaking as though he was in mid thought, and Lex scrambled mentally for clues as to his dad's intent. "You cost me money and time I can never recover Lex. You show me no gratitude for my sacrifice. No respect." His dad's hand landed on his shoulder and Lex cringed. Mistake.

"You know I love you son. You are, after all, the only family I have left in this cold, cold world." Lex didn't have to face him to know; he could hear the sneer. "We're all the other has, all there is…." Lionel's hand moved up his shoulder to rest on his neck and slowly squeeze, slowly bow his head down. Lionel's other hand rested on Lex's waist.

Lex screamed inside, _no, no you're wrong, you're wrong I'm not alone._ He bit his lip and waited for an exit point.

"How can you ever make good this expense, Lex? How can you recover the time lost for me? I'm a busy man. A very busy man. Every minute passing bleeds money—do you understand?"

 _That you're a cheap, evil money grubbing bastard? I think I do_ , Lex thought. His dad's hand curved over his head, dry, thin fingers like claws. Lex's mouth filled with saliva, his stomach clenched at the feel of the papery, dry palm on the back of his skull. His knees trembled for a moment until he locked them straight. His dad pressed against his head and inexorably moved him downwards, and his breath came a little harsher as he fought with himself—should he risk resisting this or wait, fight back or save it for a battle he'd be more likely to win?

He was bent at the waist, his dad's hand still rested there.

"Lex, Lex, you give in like a little girl. That's what you're like, a soft little girl—a disgusting little girl—" he could feel the heat of Lionel's body behind him. He swallowed convulsively and hoped his dad didn't feel or hear the violent movement of his throat. "—who kisses boys. Do you like it? Tell me, what sort of thing is Clark Kent?" He shook Lex sharply.

Lex froze. Lionel _knew—_ "What is he, that he makes you do this…thing," and Lionel's hand tightened painfully on Lex's already over-extended neck and pushed down until Lex was bent at a painful and humiliating angle. The pain was nearly eclipsed by a flood of relief. Safe. Clark was safe…for now….

"Disgusting, disgusting," Lionel hissed, and Lex jumped. What was wrong with his dad, this wasn't normal behavior for him—humiliation, yes, pain yes, but this was something very different and very frightening. His dad's hand slid from his waist to squeeze his thigh, and Lex fought to keep a squeak of fear from escaping. He swallowed again, desperate not to vomit. "I saw you and that other boy, that Fordman boy—that whore." His grip tightened on Lex's throat and his thigh and Lex felt a stab of fear that built and built until he was shaking like a twig in a hurricane. His dad was going to do something—his mind skittered all around the surface of the thought—something awful, horrible and tears sprang to his eyes, and he thought of Clark.

It was like a dash of cold water. No. He didn't have to let this happen, he wasn't a frightened little boy with a bloody mouth anymore. Fuck him. He took a deep breath, exhaled, took another, filled his mind with Clark, how brave, how strong—and stepped back into his dad, bumping against him. His dad's grip loosened just a fraction and Lex stomped down on his foot as hard as he could. His dad howled in pain and surprise at the unexpected resistance, and his grip loosened enough for Lex to yank himself loose. He dashed away from him and put the ugly battleship of a desk between them. 

Lionel was bright red with fury, but he spoke levelly, betraying nothing of the rage he must be feeling, and Lex thought that he never wanted to be that controlled, _never that out of touch with my own fucking self,_ and shivered in reaction.

"Lex. Come here this instant. I'm your father and you need to obey me. I'm your only means of support in this world. Your inheritance doesn't come to you for some time yet. What will you do? You have nowhere to go. You can't possibly imagine that your—friend, whatever it is you call him—can help you. Do you think his parent's care about you? I'm sure they'd be happier not thinking about you and the perversions you bring their son to commit."

Lex lifted a paperweight from the desk, staring at it as he spoke to his dad. "You really have no idea how personal relationships work, do you, old man?" He juggled the weight from hand to hand. "Let's put it this way. I don't need you. I‘ve got a few places to go, I have a few people who care about me—more than that, value my existence beyond what it gains them. I propose we knock this shit off and you piss the fuck off." Lex tried a wide smile and prayed his lips wouldn't shake and that his hands remained steady as he tossed the heavy crystal weight back and forth. He prayed for strength, he forced a smile. "Let me promise you one thing and I want you to believe this with every fiber of your being—if you ever try to touch me like _that_ again, it'll be a contest as to what happens first—I brain you," and he slammed the weight down on the desk hard enough to depress the wood and chip the globe, "or the cops come crawling over your little fiefdom." 

Lionel at grinned at that, of course mentioning the police seemed a hollow threat to him.

"Of course," Lex continued, "Keeping it all hushed up in the papers might be a bit more difficult considering the charge—Hmm. Molestation. It's such a difficult charge to fight." It cost him nearly everything to keep a casual, even mocking, tone. It tore at his soul and filled his mouth with bitterness. But. It had the desired effect, Lionel's grin dropped from his face, and he began to look at last, concerned.

"You'd ruin yourself with such an accusation, everywhere you go, people will be staring, thinking—" 

Lionel started when Lex laughed out loud, a harsh bark of amusement. "You asshole! People have been staring at me for years now—do you think I care? They stare at me because they know I'm a freak, I look like a freak, and everywhere I go I drag around the burden that Lionel Luthor is my father! That's enough to brand me for most people in this narrow-minded town. They all know I'm gay and that's another iron in the flames, you-you clueless, evil, old man." Lex shook his head in mock bemusement. " _This_ is the brain that charts the path of Luthor Corp—a man who thinks he can get away with -with this." He snapped his hand out, and his dad flinched. _Point—skirmish won._

"I make things happen Lex. I change things to please me. I rearrange events until the outcome is beneficial to me."

Lex smiled. "I think in your own subtle way, you're threatening me with, what—death? I believe you. I always have. But here‘s the thing—I may have lost the only thing in my life that was important to me. So basically, I have nothing left to loose. I'm going to walk out those doors, and never come back. I'm going to be someone who's not you. If you try to bring me back, I'll leave again and again. If you anger me, I'll go to the cops—I'm seventeen, not ten. They'll hear me now." He licked at the scar on his lip.

Lionel stepped forward, furious beyond reason at Lex's display of defiance. "You little shit, I'll beat you down." He raised his arm and his hand was caught in a large fist, a fist that ground his bunched fingers painfully together.

"Don't try it you, you—creep. Lex! You're coming with me—no arguments!"

Clark scowled down on Lionel and scowled at Lex, waiting for him to disagree or tell him off.

"God, Clark, you'll get no argument from me, not today! Please get me the hell out of here!" He spoke with such manic cheerfulness that Clark faltered. 

"I-I guess there've been some changes while I was lying around on the loft floor. Well…good." Clark grinned at Lex and gave Lionel a slight push away. The man stumbled to the floor and landed with a thud. He lay there without moving, his face a mask of rage. His lips peeled back in a snarl at Clark when he took Lex's hand in his.

The two left the room together at a fast walk, neither speaking, both boys intent on just getting out of the oppressive mausoleum of the Luthor "ancestral home".

~o0o~

George watched the truck pull away from the castle at speed, white gravel of the drive flying out from under the screeching tires and spraying the grass. He leaned his head on the glass, cursing to himself and wondering how, if any way, he could make this situation work for him. Damn that fucking brat, damn his fucking boyfriend, damn that bastard mother—

"George! Get in here now!"

George squared his shoulders and licked his lips. Okay. There was a way, somehow, to get out of a truly spectacular beating—he'd find it, and work it to death. Brat.

~o0o~

Whit refused to come out of his room. He knew he should feel guilty. Pete was getting the third degree from Abbie and Bill but he just couldn't bring himself to care. It took all his willpower just to keep on breathing.

Abigail knocked on his door, what seemed like every few hours, to ask if he felt better, did he want to come out and eat dinner with them—she was trying hard to give him space but he knew she wanted to know what the hell was going on. She probably figured it was about Sam's marriage—they'd talked about Sam that one time he'd spent a lifetime yarking in the bushes. Or rather she'd talked and he'd listened after he confessed he had strong feelings for Sam. That was a conversation that defined the word awkward, and more horribly, probably not the last time they were going to have a conversation like that.

He could hear Pete banging around outside the door now, "Let me in, Whit—I've got a tray here."

Food. Who cared, but if he didn't let Pete in, he'd just stand out there yelling until he did. Whit slouched over to the door and opened it for Pete, ignoring the look of exasperation. He smothered a grin at the memory of Clark calling it the ‘Nostril' what seemed like a lifetime ago, and that thought brought on another wave of depression. Why did it feel like they were so young then, why did he feel so old and used up now? .

Pete set the tray on the desk, and noticed there were no pictures around at all. Not Sam, not Clark and Lex or him and not the small high school picture of Wade, the one that had ‘proof' running across it and had been stuck in the lower edge of the mirror frame since Wade had graduated.

"Look, I know it's been a horrible couple of fucked up days," and Whit gave him a look of complete disbelief. Pete ignored him and continued, "I'm sorry for you. But in the long run…"

"Pete. Please. Please don't say it."

"Any way, when Lana and I visited Mike in Metropolis I learned a lot from him, you know, about Sam, what Mom and Dad were talking about in the kitchen that day. Gotta say, it's hard to think of Sam as the same guy Mike told me about—said he took off when he was fifteen, moved in with some kid and a guy Abbie and Bill thought was the kid's father. The whole situation was bad—Mom was being considered for her position and Dad was getting his practice off the ground and Sam was determined, and you know how stubborn he can be—Mike said they decided to let him live there until he would listen to them—"

Pete went on to detail a summer of pain and suffering on the part of all involved. The Rosses eventually stepped in but not until Sam had been hurt by the supposed father, and Pete was vague as to what that hurt entailed….

"Mike didn't say more than that, sorry—but the guy ended up in jail, and the kid he'd moved in there for disappeared."

Whit's head felt stuffed with cotton. Had Sam loved someone so much he moved out of the house—left his family for them? Suddenly all Whit wanted was for Pete to stop talking. He wanted to think or—or— not think, hell, he wasn't sure what he wanted. Except one thing. A do-over. Another fucking chance, that's all. Just another fucking chance and maybe this time, do it all right. Because he was so damn tired—he didn't want to think seriously about anyone or anything for a long, long time. He didn't want to think about…fuck, he had no idea how _not_ to think about Wade. He wished someone could help him—he wished all those memories could be cut right out of his head and disappear. 

And Clark kept trying to tell him he was some kind of hero and all Whit had done was almost get killed trying to stop Wade from hurting Lex and he just didn't want to talk to Clark anymore…and that was stupid. Clark was trying to help, he knew it but—

Whit still had no idea what happened, all he could remember was pain, horrible pain and then Wade crying, screaming at him and…and….

And then dying.

~o0o~

Pete nibbled off Whit's tray, and watched his face. Man, if ever Whit thought he had a poker face…the whole story of his life played out on the kid's face. Poor guy. Whit tried to look so hard, but Pete had never had the heart to tell him he looked like an angry puppy, all big eyes and kinda cute…damn! Pete blamed his girlfriend for thoughts like that.

He sighed, and looked at Whit. "Whit, my brother, truly your life had been shit lately, and you deserve to take time out to—to mourn," And god! It galled him to say that word in relation to that asshole. "But eventually, you'll have to rejoin the living—you have to stop making Mom and Dad go nuts and you have to reclaim your life. I want you to come out with us again, go to the Beanery and the movies and just fuck around with us like you used to, before you turned into a humorless old fart who only cared about his…lover," Pete choked out, "and forgot his friends."

Whit wanted to argue that he'd barely seen Wade at the end, but in a way Pete was right, whether he was with him or not, Wade had dominated his thoughts, twisted everything and haunted him day and night. 

"Okay. Take me out Pete; get me out of this room. What are Clark and Lex doing? Can we get together maybe?"

Pete rocked back on his heels and blew out a long puff of air." Weeeell," he began, "that's another story…."

~o0o~

Clark lay down on the double bed and kicked the pillows onto the floor for Lex to sit on. They'd been very quiet all the way back to the farm, Clark had struggled not to speak. He figured that Lex would speak when he was ready—he better be ready in a few minutes though.

Lex watched him under his lashes. Clark waited…

"So, what did you see?" Lex asked.

"I saw you were letting your dad have it—good. It's about time he was put in his place. I've always hated him—geez, ever since the funeral, he was such a dick—I'm sorry!" Clark blushed, sorry that he'd brought up Lex's mom's death, that he'd reminded them both how awful Lionel had been to him that day but Lex waved it off. 

"Don't worry Clark—I think that's the day I realized my dad doesn't give a god damn about me—or anyone as a matter of fact. I've been over that for a long time." He looked sad anyway, Clark thought. It must be hard to grow up thinking no one loved you. He thought of Whit and sighed. Yeah, it was hard to grow up that way. He'd watched Lex come so close to being like his dad—little ways that crept up on him, little parts of his personality that were icing over and becoming Lionel despite what he did to try and keep that from happening— 

Lex got up and walked around the room, as always restless when he had something to say or do that he considered very important. "Clark—I can't go back there."

"Of course not! Your dad was going to hit you! He was going to beat you up, Lex!" Lex seemed unusually upset about today's episode, maybe he was off center because of what happened—it was a horrible experience after all, and quite a lot of things had happened. Clark tried not to snort out loud—sometimes he had a real talent for understatement.

"Clark—he—he—you know…bad touch." Lex ended on a whisper, he went red and then slowly, pale as snow. 

Clark looked at him in confusion, as his brain did a little sidestep maneuver around Lex's words. What did he mean? Lex ran a hand over his head, and blew non-existent bangs out of his eyes. Clark was instantly, deeply, worried now. It was so very, very rare for Lex to slip into old habits. "Lex, could you explain just what you mean?" 

"I did, Clark," Lex waved his arms about in frustration. "Bad touch," he hissed, and covered his face. "Oh god."

 _Oh shit!_ Clark jumped up and scooped Lex into his arms and held him close. He could feel little tremors sweep Lex' s body. Clark was horrified. "You're—you're sure? No, I'm sorry, I know you're sure, but…you're sure he tried to…."

"Clark! Of course I'm fuckin' sure! Why the fuck would I imagine that?"

Clark swayed a bit as a roaring wave of pure fury swept over him. He slammed his eyes shut to stop himself from incinerating his room. Clark whirled away from Lex and turned for the stairs. He was going to kill that son-of-a-bitch, right now. 

Lex grabbed for Clark —"No! Don't! He'll find a way to hurt you, Clark! He's got his eye on you already, I'm sure. All that stuff that happened? Don't think he isn't thinking about it now. And the way you just turned up inside the study…Clark…" Lex stuttered, "Just what is that all about, anyway. Are…can you tell me about it? Will you tell me about it?"

"Lex. I want to tell you everything, but after, you're going to think differently about me…."

"You saved my life. You and I have been friends forever and we're a hell of a lot more than that now. There's nothing you could say to change how I feel about you. Nothing." Lex thrust his chin out; he was determined to make Clark understand that.

Clark held his hands up, "Wait. Just hear me out first. Don't promise things you might not be able to give."

Lex nodded and frowned a little. Clark could tell he thought he was being overly dramatic. He swallowed hard, put his faith in Lex, and started talking.

~o0o~

Lex was stunned; amazed, afraid, excited...he tried to make his way through the maze of feeling and emotion he was spinning through. What Clark told him explained a lot—and confused him terribly. If Clark wasn't human—what was he? Why did he look and act human? Why did his people send him here? Did he look human all the time? Was he human all over?

"Lex, you've got that quietly freaking look on your face." Clark said sadly. "It was too much, wasn't it?" 

Lex shook his head. "No—no. Well, yes. But it's okay. I think. I mean I know it's okay. Clark. I already told you—this makes no difference. What does worry me is someone like my dick of a father getting hold of this information." He thought to himself that he'd be able to process this information, he was positive—and truthfully, looking at Clark he felt no different. He still loved him. He loved him more if that was possible. Clark had just taken the biggest step a person could take; he'd opened his heart and soul to him and trusted him with everything he had. Lex felt his eyes prickle, and he closed them quickly and opened them again to see Clark staring into his face, scant inches away. He had a little smile on his lips, and his tone was teasing and gentle.

"Well, Lex, it's not like I scream this from the rooftops. You are the only one who knows about me—besides Mom and Dad. And now that you know, I'll be forced to keep you forever. I'll never let you out of my sight again." he leered. 

Lex smirked, "What, never?" He walked over to Clark in that way no one else did, that walk that was sex in motion and rested his hands on Clark's shoulders. "I'm going to hold you to that, you know."

Clark smiled and a shiver rippled through him. _Oh yes please_. He reached for Lex but he smoothly slid out of his reach, smiling a little at him as he backed away.

Lex stretched and his t-shirt rode up, exposing a strip of smooth belly, and Clark's fingers twitched. He really needed to touch that skin now—

"Boys! Dinner!"

 _Oh, geez._

Lex looked almost relieved, Clark thought—but when he saw Clark looking at him he gave him a warm mile and held his hand out. "Come on, let's get dinner. We'll talk more later."

Clark pouted as discreetly as he could. _Talk? No more talking! Kissing! And stuff—should take place now._ He felt a sting of guilt. Did he make Lex feel like this all the time? Damn. If so, it was really kind of… mean of him. Clark followed Lex down the stairs and tried not to watch his ass. He had important things to think about and a hell of an announcement to make to his dad. He really hoped his mom had smoothed the way—

~o0o~

Dinner was good. Right up until the moment that Clark told his dad, it was nice.

Jonathan imploded silently when Clark told him that Red knew, that he intended for Red—Lex—to know everything about him. What the hell about Lionel? Had he given any thought to the fact that Lionel was a sneaky no-good son-of-a-bitch? How in the hell was he going to protect Clark from Lionel—and protect Red too, if it came to that?

He stared at the boys across the table and he saw in Clark's face that same stubborn set he got in his. He needed to choose his words carefully; he didn't want to drive a wedge between himself and his son. 

Jonathan refused to look at Martha; he needed Clark to know that this was strictly his own decision. Clark had been calm and very reasonable during his revelation—he owed him the same maturity, though every fiber of his being demanded that he rise up and whack Clark in the head and yell, "What the fuck were you thinking?" but he was the adult here and no way was he going to be out-adulted by these kids.

He saw Red look at Clark quickly; a brief glance but the intimacy of the look sent a chill down his spine. Okay, he figured it had to be more than being best buds with Red that brought the whole desire out in Clark to tell all—but that was the boy's mother's department, he was less inclined to share there. Something major had happened, no doubt about that. God. It had to be sex. And if that was the case, Clark needed a real good talking to. He couldn't just—have sex all over and tell everyone his secret, could he? 

Jonathan shuddered, took a deep breath. "Red—you know, I can't undo this, I'm not even sure that I want to. We knew this situation would come up someday, and I always tried to have some idea in my head about how I would deal with it. So. That day is here." He shrugged. "Now we work on how to conceal Clark's secret from your father, who is without a doubt, the biggest creep on the face of the earth." 

Lex started and looked at him a little guiltily, and Clark positively swelled in his seat. His cheeks were bright red, and he looked at Lex fiercely. "Lex, I'm telling them. If they know about this, they have to know that too."

Lex nodded and Martha and Jonathan looked at each other. Now what?

Lex sighed and recounted the episode that had taken place at the castle. As he spoke Martha went paler and paler and Jonathan fumed more and more until he finally leaped to his feet in a rage. "That's it! That son of a bitch is going to pay. Fucking bastard!" 

He stamped to the key rack, but Clark stopped him. "Dad, let's not challenge him like that—going head to head with Lionel is never a good idea. Besides, I think he'd be willing to bow to Lex's wishes in this—right Lex?" Lex blushed and looked down at the table. Clark looked back at his dad, forehead creased in concern. "He doesn't want to go back there, Dad. Does he have to?" 

"Of course not!" Martha snapped. "There is no way he's going back there. Lex, you're staying here," She went to the phone. "I'm calling that pervert myself!"

Clark grinned but stopped his mom. "Let Lex do it—Can you, Lex?" 

He smiled a brilliant smile and breathed. "Oh yes, oh yes I can," he said.

Jonathan felt a moment of indecision. Okay, he really didn't want Red going back there but…Red and Clark under the same roof? That was asking for trouble. He looked at Martha and she frowned, and nodded slightly. Okay, he relaxed a bit. She'll figure it all out. He smiled a little. Actually, he wasn't displeased with the idea. Red was a good kid, his favorite of the group. Not that he didn't like Pete and Whit a lot and missed them hanging out here, but there was always something different, something special about Red, something that stood out. It was as though he were supposed to be here with them. He shrugged and watched Lex on the phone. When did the kid become a man? He'd shot up this summer, not so slight and frail looking anymore. He had muscle, and height and lots of heart—lots of heart. 

When he turned to look at them, his eyes were red, but he had that chin up stubborn look and a small smile. Jonathan didn't need to hear he'd gotten what he wanted—it was written on his face.   
Good. Good.

~o0o~

Of course, they were in separate rooms, Clark expected it.   
But no one had actually said he couldn't check on Lex in the night, just to see that he was okay. Just to see that he was sleeping all right and had enough covers. No one had come right out and said, Clark, keep in your room with the door closed. Don't go into Lex's. 

He ghosted down the hallway, avoiding squeaky spots in the floor because it would be rude to wake his folks, until he came to Lex's door. He was breathing just a bit harder. The excitement of creeping about and trying to be quiet and the hope of being with Lex made him feel wicked and made him a little hard. He quietly opened Lex's door and slid silently into the room. 

The first thing that hit him when he came in was the scent—the room, which had always smelled vaguely of dust and benign neglect now smelled wonderful, smelled like powder and soap, and clean cotton, and a warm, slightly musky smell that had to be Lex—he crept closer to the bed. Yes, a smell like sun-warmed skin and rain. Clark leaned over the bed and inhaled and a small voice asked, "Are you going to stand there all night sniffing me? That's what you're doing right? Sniffing me?" 

Lex rolled onto his back and looked up at Clark. "I hope that's what you're doing, because it's kind of turning me on," he grinned.

Clark bit back a little groan as he got hard in an instant. He grabbed himself and squeezed and then yanked his hand away like he'd been burned. He reddened under Lex's wide-eyed stare.

"Wow," Lex said, "you are really—" he blushed too, and pulled the covers down to reveal a tented pair of boxers, and Clark thought that was so hot, despite the little winged pigs all over the boxers.

Lex moved over, leaving a wide space of pale blue sheet and patted it and Clark kneeled on the edge of the bed. He bent over further until his lips were pressed lightly against Lex's cheek and stopped. He looked down Lex's lean form to his groin and lost himself in the sight of Lex's dick straining against the flannel of the boxers, pulling the material away from his body. Clark watched it sweep towards his belly and just had to see—touch—he had to feel it. He shook all over and groaned when he rolled against Lex and pressed his overly sensitive dick against Lex's hip. He could feel the heat of Lex's body soak into his as he cupped a hand around his straining dick, rubbed his fingers over the fabric and felt the shape of his love's dick, the heat, the wet spreading over the flannel—

Lex gasped and muttered against Clark's neck, "You're so hot—so hard, let me—" he pushed a slim hand into the waistband of Clark's pajama bottoms, and slid his fingers around Clark's dick. Lex's hand was cool and strong and the touch made Clark's dick twitch and his eyes close. He panted harder now, the anticipation his slow creep up the hallway produced was far outweighed by the reality—Lex, Lex in bed with him, Lex thrusting against him, sucking on his neck, fucking his ear with his tongue, sweeping it along his chin and then their mouths met, the kiss was hard and wet and sloppy, and almost painful, teeth clicked and nipped at tender lips and they ignored it, lost in the perfect, perfect heat and wet and Lex was holding him, stroking him, squeezing him in just the right way— _oh god,_ Clark shuddered violently— _if I don't stop him now I'm gonna come_ —

"Lex. Lex—not yet—not yet," and Lex groaned so loud and came hard against his leg. Clark was stunned motionless for a moment, shook as a wave of heat swept him, rushed into his gut and blew out of him in torturous, burning, spine cracking waves. He shook and moaned and coated Lex's hand and belly with come and tears leaked out of his eyes and he tried to be quiet but he couldn't stop the words tumbling from his mouth, "Oh god, Lex, love— I love you, oh god."

Seconds later he heard Lex whisper in his ear, "I'm happy now." 

Clark lay on his back, grinning and panting up at the ceiling. _Oh fuck yeah,_ he thought, _Me too. And we're going to be happy again and again._

 **MAY**  
Summer—officially summer: ‘school out, hot humid, days are long, I need a job and did I mention it's hot?' summer was here again, Pete sighed to himself—and the reality of the end of high school life was staring them in the face. The next big step was ahead of them—a major life change loomed over them and it was exciting and it was scaring the shit out of him.

In fact it was on each of the friends' minds—they were coming to an end of one part of their lives, and about to take a new independent step into another.

Pete and Lana approached it as the next step in their relationship—they'd be going to college together, and as far as they were concerned it was the first step in a lifetime commitment. 

Clark knew that going to college was going to be a major step for him in a lot of ways. He was nearly certain that once he left Smallville he wasn't coming back to stay. He was sure that his parents understood that farm life was not for him—He was going to Met U to take the first step in a journey that would take him away from that life forever—and take Lex with him.

Lex would be eighteen soon and he knew what he wanted. He wanted to be with Clark, go where Clark was going because he was never going to be apart from him again. So—Met U for him too.

Of course how he was going to do that was quite another story—he didn't come into his money for another three years—it'd be clear sailing when he did but until then the Kent's had made it clear they were willing to help. Of course, that was absolutely out of the question. It was hard enough on them to pay for Clark—and even with grants and scholarships, Clark was preparing himself for the inevitability of student loan payments.

He might have a chance guilting his dad into helping—he had an idea in mind but he wasn't sure Clark would approve. Well, what Clark didn't know wouldn't bother him. He‘d been thinking of his plan of attack for some time now. He had a feeling he might have an ally, however unwilling—if he presented it in just the right way, he might have a chance.

~o0o~

Sam came home a week after school let out, and took Pete with him to Metropolis for the weekend. It was a weekend that had been handcrafted in hell or so Pete claimed.

They'd left on Friday and were home Saturday night. Pete stormed into the house and went straight to Whit's room and slammed the door. He kicked the door shut, threw himself on Whit's bed and slammed his fist against the mattress.

"Well, hello to you too, Pete. Glad to see you back— a whole day early aren't you?" Whit asked in a puzzled tone. Pete frowned at the ceiling and cursed low and steadily. Whit leaned up and stared at Pete in amazement. He had no idea Pete knew so many creative ways to use fuck in a sentence. "Damn, Pete—what the heck went on this weekend, boy?"

"That bitch! I hate that bitch! " Pete yelled and kicked at the footboard. "She whined and cried the whole time I was there—if I tried to spend even one minute alone with him, she had a fit. Goddamn it! Fucking bitch!" Pete kicked again at the footboard as hard as he could, and both of them jumped when a crack rang out. 

"Oh, shit Pete, you're screwed! I'm not taking the fall for that!" Whit yelped.

"Daaamn," Pete nearly groaned. "Abbi's gonna have a fit—crap." All sign of the rage that possessed him a few moments ago drained as he stared in horror at the broken footboard. Whit stared also, and looked up at Pete. He had the feeling his face mirrored the horror on Pete's and Pete looked at him the moment the thought rose. They stared at each other—and Pete giggled. "Your face—" 

Whit giggled, "Your face!" and in a moment both boys were caught up in a laughing fit.

Whit was the first one to calm down, and he asked Pete again about the weekend, and if he was okay.

"Yeah, I'm okay really, and I guess that Sam understood too—man, they went in the bedroom, shut the door and all hell broke loose. I was afraid they were gonna kill each other—no, no, not that way," he quickly assured Whit at his look of fear. "No, just—there was stuff flying through the air, I'm willing to bet. Sure sounded like it." Pete shook his head. "Sam took me home right after that. He's got a bag with him," he said solemnly.

Whit lay on the floor with his hands behind his head and a speculative look on his face. "Oh yeah? Big bag or small bag?" he grinned a little and Pete laughed back.

"Just a small bag, damn it." Pete said.

Whit nodded. "Yeah. Some weekend. Hope we all survive it," he said.

Pete sighed heartily," Amen to that, brother—amen to that."

~o0o~

Monday morning wasn't as humid as the weekend had been, it was almost cool in fact and Sam stood next to the fridge and drank orange juice from the bottle and stared out into the back yard, his eyes focused on the hoop over the garage. He wished he could turn back time all the way to the days that hoop had been the only thing that mattered—whether he could beat Matt and Mike and how good could he get his game. It seemed like eons ago. He remembered when the boys thought he was a great guy; someone they looked up to—instead of this—this jerk that Whit could barely stand to talk to.  
.  
Fuck. Sam felt as if everything he'd gained he'd lost in one moment—hadn't he done what exactly Mom wanted? Good job, a wife—a normal life? What else did she want, to hand pick his wife? And Dad—god, he was so fucking understanding—sometimes Sam wished he'd just haul off and paste him one, for screwing up their lives all the time. Matt, Mike, Kathy, Pete, they were all good kids—never any trouble, the Ross kids, they're so good, and nobody had to say out loud, "Well, except for that Sam…" 

Fuckin' church ladies offering to help his mom pray over him—like he was some kind of—Sam shook his head. That was the past. What happened now was the important part. He hoped Pete could forgive him for this weekend—he was damn sure Mom wouldn't. 

Whit walked into the kitchen and his eyes widened when he saw Sam. "Oh, sorry," he said and turned to walk out.

"Wait, sorry for what? It's your kitchen too. hell, more yours than mine, I don't live here anymore." Sam smiled and shrugged and felt a little crestfallen when Whit didn't smile back. He shoved the bottle back in the fridge and turned back to Whit, a smile firmly pasted on. "I'm thinking of running up to the city for the afternoon—no, not going home," he said at Whit's look. "I've got some things to pick up and well; I don't know what else to do here…do you want to come? How about you, Pete, want to come too?" He asked, looking over Whit's shoulder at Pete in the doorway.

Pete grimaced and shook his head. "Sam, don't get me wrong, but I don't need to go to the city again for a good long time." 

Sam blushed, "Yeah, I can imagine…sorry Pete. I really am. I don't know what else to say about it." 

He rubbed at a spot on the counter top and it was quiet for a minute in the kitchen, and then Pete said "Hey, you apologized a million times—I get it, and I don't blame you." 

But his look said only for what happened this weekend, and Sam felt the weight of a thousand unspoken words. Sam sighed." Well, I guess I'll go, tell Mom I'll be home later."

He moved past the boys and gave them a sickly little smile and Whit said, "Wait, Sam, I guess I will go." 

Sam looked at Pete and raised his eyebrows and Pete shook his head. "You guys go," he told Sam. "Mom'll be glad you took Whit with you." and he smiled and Whit nodded and ducked his head. 

Sam felt like he was missing something, but when he looked at Whit he looked back steadily. Sam moved on out to the foyer and grabbed his jacket. "You—you coming Whit?" and hated how close to begging he sounded. 

Whit nodded. "Yeah, said I was. Say, this is your treat right?"

Sam laughed, feeling some of the tension of the moment drain out. "So what is this, a…" he coughed a bit and slid his jacket on," Yeah, my treat, you cheap little bastard!"

Whit laughed and it was pretty good for a moment.

~o0o~

An hour out of Smallville and Whit finally took his earphones off and looked away from the window.

"So—what are you doing in the city?" He looked at Sam like he really could care less and Sam felt a little ghost of that connection he always felt with Whit. He always felt he and Whit were really more alike than any one of his brothers, than any friend he'd ever had. He could probably tell Whit any damn thing and the kid would nod his head and say ‘oh yeah'—they were like—twins. Sam snorted quietly. 

"Aah, just stuff," he told Whit. " I've got some suits to pick up, and figured I'd drop by the office, tell them I'll be working from home this week…check on some things…"

Whit grunted, shifted a bit in the seat. "So, the job—how's that going?"

"The biz? It's…it's going. I'm happy. I'm happy with it." Sam forced a grin and Whit put the headphones back on, cranked the music up high and looked back out the window and Sam turned all his attention back to the road. How the fuck did Whit manage to make him feel like a lying shit with just a look? Sam thought how much he hated the job; doing things he didn't give a shit about for clients he couldn't stand, and he wished it were as exciting as when he started out—before Sheryl helped him find his true potential and the thought of starting his own agency had been viciously shot down by his loving and caring wife. "No one in their right mind leaves the William Peterson Agency—no one! People die to get a position with that firm!" 

Yeah. People died to stay with them too….

~o0o~

Whit watched Sam think about stuff and figured he pretty well knew what Sam was thinking about. His life, his wife—the corner he backed himself into. Why couldn't Sam have found a _nice_ girl? The world was fuckin' full of them, damn it. Whit's stomach tightened. Why couldn't Sam have turned to him, he thought and was instantly pissed off at himself. Thinking that was way stupid.

Whit rolled his head away from Sam and watched the countryside rush past the window, turn into developments, turn into factory, turn into landfill, turn back to suburbia and soon the towers of the city were on the horizon and he started to get a little excited—he hadn't been to the city since before-before Wade…had run off wherever. He felt a little unpleasant clench—sometimes the visits weren't so good, but he snuck a quick look at Sam's serious profile and his muscles eased a bit, it was pretty goddamn unlikely they'd be going anywhere near the places Wade took him.

~o0o~

They parked and Sam brought him up to the office and introduced him as his brother and offered no explanation and Whit enjoyed that—it was great fun watching people struggle not to ask, try to appear casual and ‘oh really' about it. They laughed a lot behind his office door. Sam gathered files, made calls, looked over some storyboards and made notes while Whit swung around and around in the big leather chair at Sam's desk. He was whirling around grinning like an idiot, his bangs flying around his forehead when he caught sight of Sam looking at him with an enormous frown—he looked really angry and Whit jammed his feet against the floor to stop.

"Damn, I'm sorry, Sam—I'm acting like a five year old—I hope I didn't—"

"Nah, fuck," Sam waved away his apology, his face smooth and clear again, a hint of a smile turning the corners of his mouth up. "I do that every day I'm in here, don't worry about it. It's nice to see you smiling though, Whit."

Whit grinned back but stopped twirling. He watched Sam pack up the last of his papers and for a lightning moment thought, _Sam sitting in the chair, me on his lap,_ felt it in his gut, and blushed so hard he turned to face the wall—he didn't want Sam to see him, he was afraid Sam would be able to see right into his brain if he caught him blushing like that.

~o0o~

They walked around the city and Whit was fascinated to see a whole different side of Metropolis. A bright and cheerful Metropolis, with sidewalk cafes and fruit stands, little storefronts selling everything and mini parks packed with screaming, laughing kids and harried, giggling moms and everywhere different scents and colors and just—life. 

Sam bought them lunch from a little deli, full of delicious smells that made his mouth water, garlic and bread and coffee. The crisp smell of citrus and apples tempted him to buy some oranges to go with the sandwiches Sam bought.

Sam led them to a little garden. The few people sitting there were mostly young men and women in suits, jackets folded next to them, shirtsleeves open and rolled back in concession to the heat. Whit thought Sam looked so right here, so beautiful, sunlight shifting over his face with the movement of the leaves and his eyes glowed when he looked at Whit—he so belonged in this crowd. Whit felt a little weird sitting next to him, a little lost and out of place, but Sam grinned and smacked him in the back of the head. "Stop thinking, start eating," he commanded and tossed a sandwich to Whit. 

They ate quietly, as Whit watched the crowd flow past. "So, you do this every day?" he asked Sam.

Sam looked thoughtful and answered, "I used to. I used to do it a lot. You make friends out here…I don't anymore. I don't have time for it."

Whit nodded and didn't say anything. He pulled an orange out of the bag and peeled it, split it with Sam. It was great—tart, juicy, and firm to the teeth. The orange segment split under his bite and juice burst from it and ran down his wrist and without thinking he licked it, and as he did, he caught a look, a too avid look from a young guy across from them—pinstripe shirt and loosened tie and glasses, perfect haircut and Whit felt nauseous for a moment. The look was too fucking familiar. He blushed angrily as he thought how he must look sitting next to elegant, well-dressed Sam—like a lunchtime fuck, he thought. He got up. "Come on. Let's walk a bit more."

Sam nodded and moved with him, eating his orange and swinging the bag as he walked along and Whit's heart ached. Sam looked so carefree, so…content.

They eventually made it to Sam's tailor and picked up the suits he'd come to the city for, and they stowed them in the car, and then Sam said, "Now we've got to eat, sit down in a nice place and get dinner, yes?"

Whit protested that he wasn't dressed for dinner, not a nice place anyway with his ripped jeans and tee-shirt but Sam laughed him off.

And it was a nice dinner, and they even had wine with dinner and Whit enjoyed that, almost as much as he enjoyed having Sam's undivided attention again. After, Sam got him into a few clubs, and they had a nice time—Whit danced with a lot of very pretty girls and Sam watched and had a few drinks—married man after all, and they picked the car up, and Sam said, "Let's go somewhere different before we head home." 

It was already three o'clock and Whit asked, "Aren't most clubs closed?" and Sam winked and said most and they drove and drove and Sam took them into the kind of neighborhood that looked like it had suffered horribly through a war and Whit stiffened—shit. He knew this place—he knew the club Sam pulled him into and he knew the crowd. And by this time Sam was grinning and Whit realized how drunk he was. 

"Dance, Whit!" Sam pushed him, a hard shove between the shoulders and Whit looked over the floor and watched the wave of flesh move back and forth—Sam was gone into the crowd and Whit stood at the bar, alone. He shivered and remembered how often that had happened. Brought here and left here while Wade did whatever he did. Hands touched him, gliding over him and he tried to avoid them, he got more and more uneasy and then there was Sam, big smile, right in front of him. He leaned into Whit and shouted in his ear, "You ready?" 

"Hell yeah!" Whit shouted back. Sam laughed, teeth flashing bright in the throbbing light and Whit closed his eyes.

Sam yanked at his shoulder, "Good— let's leave." and just like that, as abruptly as they came, they left.

They got to the car after a long and meandering walk and Whit was amazed to find out Sam couldn't sing for shit. With a deep sigh of relief, he pushed Sam into the passenger's side, "No fucking way are you driving home, hell no!" and Sam chuckled and folded up into the seat. He watched Whit get in with fever bright eyes and reached over to help him buckle in. 

"Thanks Sam, I think I've got it—" Whit muttered and tried to push Sam's hands away, and suddenly it was like Sam'd grown a dozen hands and they flailed and shoved and pushed at each other for a while and laughed until even with Sam's help Whit managed to buckle in and Sam whooped in triumph.

Whit was still grinning a little as he started the car, pulled away from the curb, when a hand landed in his lap and cupped him, rubbed him….

Whit froze, he grabbed Sam's wrist, telling himself the man was drunk, he didn't know what he was doing—and suddenly Sam had a hand around his neck and was trying to force his tongue into his mouth. The car swerved and Whit gasped. Fear and rage had him lightheaded. "Stop! Sam, damn it—stop it," Whit growled and pushed Sam away with one hand and clasped the wheel in a death grip with the other….

"It's okay— guys don't count—it doesn't matter—" Sam mumbled, dragged his mouth wetly against Whit's neck and Whit swore he was about to throw up. He pushed Sam back so hard his head hit the window with a crack. He stared at Whit open mouthed, sick and horrified, and burst into sobs.

Whit slammed his foot down on the gas pedal and the car lunged forward with a squeal of tires. "You drunk bastard!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "You stupid drunk motherfucker! Who the fuck—you know me! How could you do that?" 

"No, no, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Shut the fuck up, you, you—just shut up." 

Sam cried, balled up against the door and shaking and Whit didn't give a fuck—he just wanted to get home and leave this pathetic, self-hating pile of shit on the driveway.

"I didn't mean it like that, I didn't mean it like that," Sam kept repeating, "I thought I'd forget, thought I'd get over it…I love you, I know it, I love you and you love me, right? Don't you? Whit?" 

Sam's voice was thick and rough and he looked pathetic, looked like his world was splitting down the middle and Whit hoped he'd fall into the center and be ground to a paste. He drove furiously, concentrating on the road, trying to ignore the quietly begging man at his side. Everything Sam said or did was a lie, and part of Whit's mind begged him to cut the guy a break, he was drunk and confused, but the part that had heard too many drunken declarations of love and sorrow hated Sam. Whit didn't need Sam's fucked up shit. He had enough of his own to deal with.

Sam was asleep by the time Whit pulled into the driveway. He sat in the car and leaned his head on the steering wheel. His eyes were gummy and burning, he was so tired. He sighed and glanced toward Sam. In the gray dawn light Sam looked pale, yellow and sick; his forehead was creased even in sleep, his mouth drawn fiercely down. Whit could see tears still hanging on his lashes and it made him want to cry too, made him want to reach over and punch Sam. He could feel himself falling right into the same old sick pattern. He couldn't do anything for Sam, no way could he help him, they'd only drag each other down and Sam was married and that meant something too. To Whit at least it meant hands off. 

He startled at a knock on the window, he wiped condensation off the glass and there was Pete, standing outside in his boxers, barefoot and arms crossed over his chest and he looked confused and a little worried. Whit opened the car door and Pete recoiled, flapping his hand in front of his face, "Damn, you guys drink the town dry or what—what?" He asked at Whit's look—and then groaned quietly. "He acted out, hunh? Are you okay?" At Whit's nod, he laughed shortly. "Sure you are. I'll help you get his stupid ass upstairs. Don't blame him Whit, he'll get it together, I know he will and he's going to realize he loves you and—"

"Jesus, Pete, you ever feel like you're stuck in a queer soap opera? Shit, I feel sorry for you sometimes…." Whit puffed as they pulled and half carried Sam upstairs. Pete struggled between scowling and laughing and finally had to giggle a bit. 

They dropped Sam on Whit's bed and Whit straightened and looked directly into Pete's eyes and said "I know he's gonna be sorry, they're always sorry after. I know times are screwed up for him and you know what? At this point, I don't give a flying fuck. This is me, moving on and taking care of me. And shut up, I know I sound like some asshole self-help book."

"No, you sound good. You're right. This is something Sam has to take care of himself. And you really need to learn how to be a kid again, Whit."

"Shit, Pete—what the hell does that even mean? I'll be happy if I can get out of school alive, man. I hope to hell I can get out of Smallville alive," he laughed bitterly. He looked down on the sleeping man in his bed.

"Pete, I'm going to stay at Clark's until Sam's gone, okay? Tell him I accept his apology—but not to bother me. Just in case he thinks he should…I don’t know, try and talk to me…." 

Pete nodded. "Understood."


	9. Chapter 9

**JUNE**  
The Beanery was crowded that afternoon, and the air conditioning was not quite up to the challenge. There was a pile of napkins in front of Lana, and a pile in front of Lex. There was also a lot of eye rolling going on. 

"Babe, you're de-foresting the planet. You're going to sweat, it's summer. It's what you do in summer. You sweat," Pete explained patiently. 

"I don't have to walk around dripping just because it's summer, do I? Besides, I hate the feel of sweat on my neck." Lana grumbled, the heat making her irritable. Lex nodded with her and patted the back of his neck with a folded napkin.

"That wasn't what you said last—oof. Geez, your pointy little elbows. Swear to god, I lost a kidney that time." Pete rubbed his side, and moaned sadly and quietly to himself.

"Yes, well now you know what not to share in public—we call it TMI," she growled but her eyes sparkled when she looked at Pete.

"Fine, fine. Your boyfriend only has one functioning kidney, but we won't make sex jokes because—"

"We could go for the other kidney, you know."

"Is that the royal we?" Lex murmured. "Or are you acknowledging that the rest of us would rather take Pete's kidney out then hear about your sexploits?"

Whit laughed aloud. "Lex! Ew—sexploits? Watching those crappy, tell-all shows on cable with Clark, aren't you?" 

Clark flushed, "Lex makes me watch them, I don't—"

"Clark. I'm right here. We usually wait until the person we slander has their back turned." 

Pinned by glacial gray eyes and a disapproving glare, Clark trailed off into embarrassed silence and a weak grin.

"Yes, Whit, Clark does channel his inner housewife frequently. It pains me to admit this, but the love of my life has no taste whatsoever. This, my friends, is a man who thinks bright blue and red are the new black." He pointed at Clark who mock-frowned at him. "Fear him! Fear his primary colors!"

The little group laughed along with Lex and Clark and Whit tipped his chair back and grinned at the two. It felt like a million years since he'd spent any time with them. He missed them, but he didn't want to infect them with his crap. They were so happy and he hated to bring any more bad stuff into their lives. He'd done enough of that, god knows he'd caused most of their problems, and he felt guilty about it every time he watched how careful, how protective they were with each other, as if they were so breakable. And yeah, hadn't he taught them how true that was—how truly dangerous life could be. 

The warm feeling began to dissipate but a burst of laughter from the corner caught his attention and he turned his head toward the sound with a small smile—and froze. _Oh. Oh…man. That looks good._

Some guy in his marine dress blues stood talking to a group of kids that looked vaguely familiar to Whit. Lana followed his line of sight to the group. "Oh, look, it's Charlie Vale, remember him?"

Whit frowned. "No, was he in our class?" He looked good, really blue eyes and a great smile…

Pete answered, "No, last year's class—you don't know him, he was a band geek. Not your crowd." He looked archly at Whit.

Lex smirked. "Ah. A good boy, than. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you Whit?"   
His tone was entirely affectionate and joking and Whit knew Lex didn't mean anything hurtful at all by it…still, his words pricked a bit. "Fuck you," he said casually and was glad no sign of the brief stab of hurt feeling showed in his voice. He looked over at Charlie. "Those uniforms make anyone look good, don't they?"

Lana huffed. "Charlie's a real cute guy even out of uniform, right, Pete?"

"Geez, I don't know! Ask Clark! Why ask me—I don't look at guys, how the heck should I know?" He made a violent shrugging motion and glared at his love, who smiled back sweetly.

Clark and Lex coughed into their hands, "Homophobe—" and Pete yelled, "Enough already! It wasn't funny the first five hundred million times!"

In the total silence that followed and the complete attention that their table garnered, Whit made eye contact with Charlie, who smiled faintly with a look that said, ‘Do I know you?' and his eyes slid away from Whit almost immediately.

Whit shrugged mentally. Oh well, obviously not interested. It was worth a shot. He probably looked like a band geek out of the uniform anyway. Boy, that navy and brass…really made a guy look good.

~o0o~

The morning had been hot and the afternoon was hotter. Even with air conditioning, everyone at home was a little cranky, and no improvement in sight, because Mom Ross got a call from Sam. About what, Whit had no idea, as soon as he realized who was on the phone, he'd walked out. 

He'd shot a few baskets and wandered around the back yard, looking at the lilacs with nostalgia. Man, some horrible night that was—poor Pete and Mike. He'd thrown his guts up all over the lawn the night they'd pulled him out from under those bushes. And Mike had been real nice to him. He missed Mike. He almost sort of missed Matt. Whit tried to find something charitable to think about Kathy. She was doing well in her studies, he mused. "God help her future potential patients," he chanted automatically, then grinned. _Thanks Pete, for drilling that in my head._

He let his mind sneak up on thoughts of Sam. It wasn't too bad really, more like poking your tongue in an empty tooth socket instead of an electric outlet. Good. He didn't want to kill Sam anymore and that was an improvement. He didn't feel as betrayed and as violated, that was an improvement, too. Lately, Sam wanted to talk to him on the phone again. Not an improvement. Whit just wasn't ready. Someday soon though, he hoped he could talk to Sam again. He missed the Sam of his childhood so much. The cool in control guy he'd loved without reservation, the guy that hugged them and even wiped their noses from time to time. The guy that punched them and stole their juice boxes, called them names, chased them out of the house when his friends came over. Who'd hopped on his bike and went downtown and scared the hell out of a bunch of jerks that were making their lives miserable. Sam hadn't played it off with an, "I'm too old for this." Instead, he'd backed them up, no question asked. God, Whit missed that guy.

Sam had always been there for Pete and Lex, and for him. Whit wished he'd known then that Sam's advice to him came from personal experience. Maybe things might have been different…no Wade, no drugs, no shit in his life. He bowed his head and sighed. Sure. And there still would have been a Sheryl and he probably still would have ended up in the bushes fucked up and crying, and eventually he would have found a Wade. That's just the way he was made. 

Whit looked around himself in surprise. He'd walked all the way down the drive and out to the road into town. And now the heat said, _hello, hi there remember me?_ and punched him in the gut. It was hot as hell and he was halfway to town…he shrugged. Maybe the Bobbsy Twins were in town. Whit grinned. Clark hated when Whit called him and Lex that. Clark really needed to learn to relax. Be more like Lex—Lex just flipped him off and kept on doing whatever it was he was doing. _Like he's always done, ever since we were kids._

He tripped and staggered a bit out into the road and jumped when a car horn sounded right behind him ad jerked around with a glare.

The car stopped and a head hung out the window. "Hey, you okay? Darn, I'm really sorry" 

He turned and it was that guy, that Charlie guy. Out of uniform. And yeah, he looked like a band geek. No, he looked like a fucking boy scout, like Clark, only without Clark's ‘I'm so fuckable" vibe. His blue eyes seemed to glow in the afternoon sun, and Whit was uncomfortably aware of small beads of sweat on the guy's upper lip. Not full and kissable like Clark's or knowing and playful like Lex's or…yeah. Thin. White boy lips. With a cute dip in the middle that begged to be licked—damn. Maybe he was just insanely horny. Whit sighed. Or just stupid…stupid and horny.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He barked, a little louder and harsher than he'd planned to and the smile disappeared from the guy's—Charlie's face. Recognition dawned and his eyes narrowed and were suddenly not so crystal clear a blue.

"Oh. Whitney Fordman. That explains why you're in the middle of the road." He stared at Whit in challenge, waiting for a fight or something, Whit guessed. After all, that was Whit's reputation, right? A smart mouth punk. Not even hanging with good guys helped his crappy rep. Obviously all Charlie knew was that Whit's friends were druggies and probably, like the rest of Smallville, he knew about Wade.

Whit looked at Charlie and his mouth opened and closed, and suddenly he felt like his chest was in a vise and what the hell was up with that? He must look bad, because that Charlie guy began to look less belligerent and a little more concerned. Whit looked at him and tried to laugh, but he didn't have enough breath to. Well, he thought, now was as good a time as any to have some kind of break down. Whit sat suddenly on the roadside, shaking. 

Charlie got out of his car and asked, "Hey, are you having some kind of reaction—do you need a doctor, or—" 

Whit choked and scrambled to his feet. Fuck, he was on the verge of losing it—he had to get away. He turned and took a few steps but guy cleared the space between them in an instant. "If you're having some kind of problem," he said, "maybe I can help. Let me see." He pulled Whit around and looked at his eyes. "Have you been doing anything, something that—"

"Wade's dead." Whit said again, "Wade's dead. He's not coming back." It was like his mouth kept on running and his brain just shut down. He said it again and again and one part of his brain was totally disgusted with himself, informed him snot was running out his nose and that he looked horrible and was possibly insane. The other part just screamed and screamed. Finally he regained some control, enough to stop gasping, shaking, and blabbering. He raised his arm, yanked his sleeve down and wiped his face and Charlie was there with a handful of wrinkled but clean restaurant napkins.

"I've got more if you need them." Charlie looked too sympathetic—Whit felt like an idiot, a big wet snotty idiot. "You want to talk about it?" and Charlie's floppy brown hair swept into his eyes as he bent over to meet Whit's. Tall, thin—totally not Whit's idea of a Marine. Marines were big muscular guys. The guy hovering over Whit had forearms like matchsticks.

Charlie brushed his hair back and looked annoyed with it falling in his eyes; the movement reminded him of Red. Whit shook again and more tears squeezed out of his eyes. He hadn't thought of Lex as Red in so long…he'd slipped into calling him Lex even in his mind without a thought. Whit had distanced himself that much from his friends, pulled away from everyone since Wade started his crime spree. And then Wade died, and Whit was all alone behind the walls he'd built and couldn't ask for help and he was alone and god—he felt so trapped. 

He thought, _"I'm an asshole—_ and realized how much he needed his friends back, he needed Red and Clark in his life, he needed Pete, just as much as he needed to breathe and a hard, sharp, knot in his chest slithered loose. He felt…light. Lighter.

"Hair's kind of, kind of long on top for a Marine, hunh?" Whit said shakily, trying for jaunty but coming off more creaky.

Charlie responded to the smile warmly. "Well, shaved head is boot camp. And this stuff grows too damn fast. I'm on leave now, so…." He shrugged, smiled and brushed his hair back again in the achingly familiar gesture, the one Lex still did from time to time.

 _Red, not Lex. Red._ Whit grinned again, laughed. He did feel lighter, almost giddy with the release of some of the darkness. "I just want you to know, I'm not crazy."

"Oh of course not—I never thought anything like that. And to prove it, I'm going to offer you a ride wherever you want to go. See? Would I do that if I thought you were crazy?" Charlie stopped on his way back to the car and looked thoughtful. "Unh…you don't want to go to Metropolis, do you?" Whit laughed and shook his head no. "Oh. Good," Charlie went on, "because I don't think I have enough gas for that."

They climbed into the car and Charlie immediately instructed him to buckle. He looked appraisingly at Whit. "You're sure you're okay? You can talk about it if you need to—I listen really well. I give good listen. Yeah, that was bad, I know." Charlie grinned and Whit smiled back. He looked over at Whit and raised an eyebrow. "You ready?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm ready," Whit grinned.

~o0o~

Lex slipped quietly downstairs and hoped that Clark wouldn't hear him moving about. He'd waited until he was sure Clark was deeply asleep before going down to the kitchen. Leaving the light off and feeling his way to the phone he dialed a number he knew by heart, and stared out into darkness, waiting for the phone to connect.

A fumbling sound, click of plastic against plastic and a sleepy voice said," Luthor Manor, Mr. Luthor is not available, how may I help you?"

"George, you asshole—I need to talk to you!" Lex hissed into the phone, his free hand slid over his head, and his fingers clenched around the phone. He tried to sound in command, and project his contempt at the same time. 

"Lex! You aren't allowed to call here—"

"Shut up! My father's not there. I know he's in Metropolis, and it's you I need to talk to anyway. So—having a good time without me?" he couldn't resist the barb, he knew how much George disliked him and the feeling was completely mutual.

~o0o~

George snarled, a wash of anger flooded him. Lex knew exactly what George was going through. Lionel always took out his…disappointment on him when Lex wasn't available. Little bald bastard—freak. Calling to laugh at him, was he? Well, fuck him. George pulled the phone away, ready to disconnect when he heard Lex called out softly, "George, you can get back at him, help me and I'll tell you how—"

"Go ahead," George said carefully. "Talk." Whatever this game was, it wouldn't hurt to listen. And at any rate, Lex might laugh at him, but he never played the kind of games Lionel lived to play. Not yet.

Lex's voice quietly continued, "You know where my father keeps tapes from the cameras?" 

George froze. He knew about the cameras. He knew the location of each and every one of them. He also knew where the tapes were kept. Lionel thought it funny to play those tapes back to him from time to time. He knew how to get access to the tapes. And no, he couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it. Lex had no idea what he was asking.

 

"I need a tape—a specific one. I'm thinking he's too arrogant to have destroyed this tape. That's what he is, isn't it George? Arrogant enough to think he owns you. Arrogant enough to treat you like tissue—use you up, crumble you and never once ask what you want. Am I right George? Taking all the time, never asking what you want to give…." Lex's voice poured into in his ear like a snake, slipped in and wormed its way into his brain. George listened avidly. Lex's voice, pitched low, was seductive, compelling…George unconsciously nodded when Lex spoke again.

"Blackmail. George. I want to play a game of blackmail with my dad. Join me?"

"What do I get out of it?" George whispered back and tried to hide his growing excitement. To have something over Lionel—finally—to get out from under his thumb, maybe be treated with some respect. Maybe get something he wanted. Yes. Lex was right. It was time he was actually seen. He quickly looked over his shoulder, and licked his lips. All right. I think I can help."

~o0o~

Lex crept back up the stairs and slipped into his room, turning to the bed after easing the door shut. It was only years of training in self-control, denying his dad the fun of hearing him scream that kept him calm and motionless when Clark's hand fell on his shoulder.

"Clark. I—I was in the bathroom." Lex drew in a shaky breath and tried to relax stiffened muscles. He faked a yawn and decided rubbing his eyes would be over-playing it. 

"No you weren't, you were downstairs talking to George. Why?" He looked so unhappy that Lex sighed and closed his eyes. God. Why couldn't he just have been asleep? "What do you want from him, Lex—- what can than that weasel do for you?"

Lex slid around under Clark's hand until he was pressed against him. "Since we're both up," he breathed against Clark's neck, "Let's not waste this time, hmm?" He pulled Clark's hips against his and felt him stirring. It always made Lex moan, and he didn't try to hold it in. Clark shivered and grew harder, his dick shifting across Lex's as it filled. Lex rocked against him and bit lightly across Clark's collarbone and Clark groaned and squeezed Lex's shoulder. "Lex, Lex—" he gasped. "You‘re not getting away with this, Lex—I'm not that stupid or that horny"—and gasped again when Lex slid his hand into his boxers. "Stop, Lex! We need to talk."

"Not now," Lex whined, "Come on!" He slid down Clark's body, skimming his shorts down with him until his chin was pressed against the head of Clark's dick.

"Oh god, Lex! No fair!" Clark grunted when Lex's tongue swirled over the head of his dick and his fingers gripped Clark's ass, hard enough to hurt a human. It thrilled Lex to know how strong Clark was—that he couldn't hurt him. Clark rocked forward as Lex licked him and squeezed him and teased him, closed his lips over the crown, he groaned around the fingers he had shoved in his mouth. Lex gripped his ass harder, spreading his cheeks slightly and that always made Clark harder, made him leak. Lex loved the sounds he forced out of Clark, Clark shoved more of his dick into Lex's mouth and Lex traced it with his tongue and pressed it to the roof of his mouth, tried to swallow it into his throat. Clark started to pant, his stomach muscles contracted, Lex felt his ass tighten under his hands—Clark was close, close. Lex massaged him, sucked harder—

Clark came with a deep grunt, he bent over Lex and pumped once or twice until he managed to regain control and stood trembling until he was spent, and Lex let his dick drop from his mouth. Clark pulled him to his feet and backed him up until he fell onto the bed. Lex dropped to his back. Clark hung over him, his eyes bright, a huge grin on his face. "Guess what, Lex?" he said, and Lex grinned up at him.

~o0~

Clark grinned down at Lex, looking nervous and excited. "It's your turn now," he whispered. He kissed and sucked tiny bites into Lex's smooth, cool skin, down until his chin bumped Lex's erection and Lex moaned, so pretty, long and loud. Clark kissed the head and then, sucked Lex into his mouth. He wondered if it was as good for Lex as it was for him. He hadn't worked up the courage to ask yet—and they'd not actually said, ‘I like when you do this or I like when you do that'…they just did stuff and relied on noise to guide them. 

He knew that Lex liked when he pressed his tongue against the shaft and let the head slip into his throat and swallowed, like now—when they were alone Lex made so much noise, when they weren't Lex bit down on the pillow, shoving as much as he could into his mouth and chewing on it as he jerked and jerked and screamed around the cotton filling his mouth. Clark wasn't sure what he liked better—when his parents were around and they had to be quiet and not get carried away, it was kind of like Lex was tied down, tied up and not able to move, helpless, gagged—and fuck! Lex tied –he came again as Lex thrust deep into his throat and came, pressing the pillow hard over his face as he screamed into it—he lifted off the bed he came so hard and Clark moaned through his nose and fucked the sheets frantically.

He was drifting off again with his face pressed against Lex ‘s belly, warm sated and content when a stray thought floated out of the depths of his sleepy subconscious _telephone call?_

He groaned, damn, Lex was evil…and then he drifted off into a dream that he was flying and Lex was wrapped around him and he was happier than he could ever remember being….

 _Fuck!_ He woke up with full body jerk and realized he was alone. He closed his eyes and tried to find Lex in the house, but he wasn't in the house, or in the barn, or in the milking sheds, or – he went deeper into himself and concentrated harder—-anywhere on the farm.

Damn it. That meant he was at the castle—at the castle with George. He wasn't afraid George would hurt Lex—he wasn't capable—not physically anyway. But whatever reason could bring George and Lex together had to be bad—bad with a capital B. He got out of bed, and hurriedly dressed—he needed to get there before Lex damaged himself.

~o0o~

George held a tape in his hand and said, "So—what do I get for this?" He gave Lex a cold imitation of a smile, as Lex explained again what he wanted with the tape and George nodded. Lex explained what George could demand of Lionel when he realized they were in possession of the tape. Then he gave Lex real smile—tiny, barely lifting corners of his mouth but genuine. Lex smiled back, feeling not a bit of warmth as he watched George's face shift through several different emotions and his eyes slowly begin to light up. Idiot. Spineless, clueless lost idiot, Lex thought, and he held out his hand for the tape. 

George laid it carefully in his palm. "That's it—there aren't any copies, I checked—do you want some made?" His face twisted a little and he looked slightly ill. Lex snarled, he didn't want even the barest trace of sympathy from this–this waste of flesh. He felt none for George. "No. We only need to have this one, and—I don't think you should have it, understand? I don't think you could—hold onto it." Lex looked at George, really looked at him, and wondered in the amount of faith the man placed in him, even though he knew George hated him…or was it faith in the name? How much training did it take to make another human so...willing to let himself be ruled, controlled like that?

George nodded and swallowed. Lionel scared him. He was probably the only person in the world who did. He turned and looked down the hall away from Lex's probing eyes. He hated looking at Lex too long, he hated Lex looking at him. He had to fight always to control himself around him. There was certainly no love lost between the two of them…his eyes slid back and caught Lex looking at him in undisguised contempt and it flashed through his mind how grateful he was that the son was nothing like the father, or his life here would be even more…interesting.

At least with this tape, he'd be able to negotiate the treatment he got around here now—Lionel would have to follow along or risk having it known what perverse desires lurked under his smooth surface—there was no mistaking his actions on that bit of tape—it showed a man used to abusing his power and willing to debase his own flesh and blood. An unfaithful and sinful man….

Lex sneered at him, and prepared to leave, but couldn't resist taunting George about what he saw as his weakness. "I guess his other tapes are safe—I know you haven't touched them. You can't, can you?" he tilted his head and stared at George, watching his reactions.

George reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another tape. He looked at it and smiled a little. Stroked it like it was a pet. "I did touch this one. Odd, really—it wasn't with the others. It was in his desk, not even in a locked drawer, can you believe it," he said softly, his expression one of mild surprise. "Two sweet boys…"

Lex paled, and felt sick, sick and dirty and he froze to keep from yanking the tape out of his hand. He refused to give George that much.

"I watched it. It's…pretty." His face twisted and he looked angry, and his eyes bored into Lex's. Too bright, Lex thought and George laughed, short and sharp and dropped the tape to the marble tile, and crushed it under his heel. He kicked it to Lex. "There. A gift from me to you. One of a thousand gifts I've given you while he waited for you to grow old enough. He does have his limits after all, your father. It's not as though he's a pervert, not with his own flesh and blood," George barked out another bitter laugh. 

"You could have left at any time. I didn't keep you here. I didn't make you stay," Lex snapped and took a step toward him, fists clenched.

George didn't even blink. "Make me stay? You have no idea—none. Your father, you think he's a bad man? You have _no_ idea. I'm tired now. I'm going to lie down and you're going to leave. And when he comes back, we'll play your game." 

Lex swept up the tape and turned on his heel. With his back turned he thanked George and left, not waiting for a response. What George had said, however, wasn't as easy to turn his back on. The man meant something by it, he was sure. Something more than Lex could see at this moment. 

He trotted down the front steps, first checking to see no one was there—one minute there was no one and the next there was Clark. He stared into Lex's eyes and said, "You've got to tell me."

It's such an ordinary day, Lex thought, and it was—a simple, ordinary sunny afternoon, bees were droning in the distance, going about their business, and it was quiet enough to hear cars go by on the road past the property, to hear the slight breeze stir the blades of ornamental grass—and in this simple ordinary summer afternoon it was possible his whole world hung in the balance…Lex felt a momentary wave of lightheadedness and shook his head and said "No. You'll be happier, I think, if I don't."

"Try me," Clark said, "you might be surprised." Lex looked up into Clark's face and concern and the desire to help was written there, but most of all, love…best of all, love. And he told him.

Clark listened to Lex explain why he did what he did, and Clark felt ill and so terribly sad, and…tired. Why couldn't Lex understand, when it was so very plain to _him,_ that this act, far from making his father angry was more likely to make him happy—it was just the way the man would have handled it, a perfect bit of Lionel behavior, a carbon-copy of the old man. Fucking old bastard, he was a—a virus, slipping in and destroying everything that wasn't like him, until nothing was left but Lionel.

"Lex, did it ever occur to you that you could have gone about this the legal way? Have yourself declared an emancipated minor—or sued him, or asked my parents for help or a dozen other things that would have taken longer and maybe not given you the satisfaction of revenge—but they would have been the right thing to do?" Clark searched Lex's face for any sign of understanding and there it was, pain moving in his eyes like some maimed thing rolling over deep in his soul—-pain that became anger, and Clark could see the ice rising in his eyes and gray eyes turned blue and frozen as he nodded.

"I knew you wouldn't support me in this Clark, that's why I tried to spare you." Lex said and tried to move past Clark.

"Spare me?" Clark laughed. "You manipulated me, you—you did a Whitney on me, fucked me so I'd forget what you really wanted—treated me like—like a trick to get it. Lex. Can't you see what you did? God, I feel like a shit for letting it happen. I should have stopped you, but I let my dick do my thinking…I'm sorry, I really am. I was trying to stop all that for you. I messed up." 

Lex turned away from Clark, pushed past him and out to the drive. "Think what you like Clark, I did it for us, I'm doing it for us…or at least I thought it was going to be for us." He strode away, head high and shoulders squared his back ramrod straight and stiff, like a soldier, Clark thought.

Clark stood for a minute with his head down, and sorrow filled him, weighing him down like a lead cape…he was going to lose any way. No matter what he did, he was going to lose…Clark was in front of Lex in a heartbeat, super speed making him appear like a ghost in front of Lex. 

"Do what you think you have to, but you better never, ever, do that to me again. Don't use sex to get what you want from me—that's turning something we should share as good between us into—into dirt. Garbage. You understand me?" Clark could feel the heat in his eyes and felt a moment's regret as fear flashed over Lex's face. But maybe he should know, a tiny voice inside of him said. Maybe he should know that Clark wasn't weak…not even when it came to Lex. He ignored the thought and reached out to Lex, took his hands gently and pushed away the relief that rose in him when he didn't flinch. 

"Okay, you have to do it this way," Clark said, "and yeah, it's faster and you don't have to deal with the son-of-a-bitch for very long, but Lex—you can't do these things and not have it effect you. A step in that direction leads to another and another and another until you're standing right in the same place he is, standing right in his shoes." 

Lex nodded, his eyes wet with tears and he leaned forward, sort of a slow motion toppling until Clark held him, and Lex's face was against his chest, too hot— hot tears soaking into his t-shirt and Lex begged him to forgive him, "Sorry, sorry, sorry, it was wrong."

Clark made a sound of agreement and held onto Lex, let him cry it out, letting him cry out the shit he'd held in since everything exploded, shit they held in because they were all so fucking strong….

Lex stopped rocking slowly and coughed as he tried to regain his breath and his control. He let out a long sigh, and slid his arms around Clark's waist. "I'm still going to use that tape."

Clark sighed. "I know."

"But I'll give it to you after; you can burn it." 

Ice ran up his spine, and Clark nodded, said quietly, "Yes. I will. And then?"

"And then—Lionel will never touch my life again. I swear it. You know, Clark, you're afraid for me all the time but you forget one thing. Lionel wasn't the only father to make an impact on my life. Give your dad more credit than that." He smiled at the way Clark's face cleared, and his eyes warmed as he looked at Lex.

"Yeah? Yeah—you're right. He's a pretty amazing guy, my dad." Clark grinned happily, and Lex grinned back. 

"Yes, Clark he really is."

"Can we go home now…Red?" 

"If only so I can shove you in the chipper, you who are not allowed to call me that."

"I'm kidding—you know it's Lex to me, always." He smiled gently at Lex, then frowned a little. "Umm, Lex, you know the chipper can't actually hurt me…" He looked a little worried. Even though Lex swore that it was wonderful, this knowing about him, a little corner of fear still sat in his mind. Did he really understand how different Clark was? 

"Really?" Lex drawled. "We should explore these abilities of yours further, Clark."

Clark frowned a bit more, picturing Lex trying to hurt him in a million different ways, a Dexter-style lab coat wrapped around him—

"Let's start by you super-speeding me home and then we'll test your… stamina, hmm?"

Clark grinned widely at the heat in Lex's eyes and was now picturing him in nothing but a lab coat…"sounds like my kind of experiments." He said, scooped Lex up, and held him tightly against his chest.

"Are you ready, Lex?" Clark looked down into his face and laughed lightly at the excitement in Lex's.

"Oh, yes," he smiled, "I'm ready."

~o0o~

Evening darkened the loft, the only light came from a small lantern hanging from a nail, casting a golden pool on the beat up old couch the on which the boys lay. Clark, nearly dozing, held Lex loosely in his arms, and Lex was using Clark as a mattress. He sighed and turned the last page of his book and closed it, sighed again.

"What's wrong, babe?" Clark asked, and Lex closed his eyes and enjoyed the way Clark's voice thrummed in his chest when he pitched his voice low, and the way it vibrated against Lex's back. He kind of liked that Clark called him babe, thought it was kind of cute if a bit mushy the way Clark slipped the occasional endearments in.

He reached back with one hand and combed his fingers through Clark's hair. "Nothing's wrong—it was a good book and I'm sorry it's finished. I wish there were more." 

Clark chuckled. "You always do, Lex—no matter what it is, you always wish there were more." 

Lex grinned, "Yes, I suppose. And I'm going to pretend you didn't just call me greedy, Clark." He chuckled at Clark's startled burst of laughter and slid up to press his cheek against Clark's. He'd been so relaxed lately—not having to look over his shoulder all the time, not having to perform exactly the way his dad wanted him to—it was such a relief. And now that college was assured, paid for plus some, he could breathe a great sigh of relief. It was over—at least for now. He wasn't a fool and he knew never to underestimate his dad. But for now…freedom.

He had to admit, there was a part of him that had deeply enjoyed Lionel's wrath, and bluster and final acquiescence—a small part of him that warmed at Lionel's grudging look of respect and a sort of icy affection when he realized Lex had cornered him into giving Lex what he wanted. If he knew about the missing tape—the tape George destroyed; he said not a word. 

George had met him on the way out the door, a smile dimpling his cheeks, a smile so full it crinkled the corners of his eyes. 

"I finally made an impression on him, I think. He actually listened to me, and I think he heard me," George had said. "Thanks to your plan. Only you could be so heartless as to blackmail your own father." George's green eyes, startling in his golden skin, had darted over his body. Lex had felt like he was taking something from him, taking liberties…. "I can't hate you for that." He'd laughed and Lex'd had to squash the desire to punch him in the mouth.

Lex had looked at the man, a man who had been in his father's household for as long as he could remember, first as an assistant to his father's original butler whom Lex barely recalled and then as butler himself. He'd always thought his dad was a ridiculous snob—who the hell needed a butler in the assback of Kansas farmland. Who the hell had a live in butler at all anymore— that was all Bertie Wooster and Jeeves territory wasn't it? But Lex was perfectly aware the freak wasn't just a butler and he'd looked at him with nausea and disgust, and it had been evident on his face. George's smile disappeared and his face froze into its habitual look of mild distaste and he told Lex, "I don't have to take your beatings anymore and I'm glad of that. You won't be here to get them—and that makes me sad."

He leaned forward and hissed, "I wish you'd died in your crib." And snapped back ramrod straight, said in a calm mild voice as if he'd never spoken, "If there's nothing else, sir?" And nearly slammed the door in Lex's face.

Lex mused over that scene and stretched out on Clark, deep in thought. Clark groaned a little when he shifted over his crotch. Lex smiled. He loved that he had that effect on Clark. Clark's arms came up and slid down his ribs, over his belly and came to rest with his hands cupping Lex's crotch. Lex breathed out a sigh of contentment and loved that Clark had that effect on him. They rocked slowly against each other for a bit, neither of them in a hurry to do anything, just enjoying being close.

Clark nipped at Lex's neck and nibbled his ear. "Lex, are you going to tell me what happened the other day? What your dad said? I mean…if you want to tell me, you don't have to." Clark nuzzled deeper into Lex's neck and it appeared that he really didn't care about the answer. 

Lex gasped, "Clark, there's nothing to tell. He cracked. We're going to school together. End of story." And he thought to himself, _we'll be comfortable and for god's sake, we'll be going in a new truck. My ass is sick and tired of sticking to duct tape._

"Lex," Clark whispered, "you know my dad won't let you pay for my school—or anything like that, you know that right?" 

Lex nodded, no point in telling Clark that he had Jonathan more than halfway agreeable to a couple of ideas he had in mind, in fact he'd agreed to a room off campus. It'd taken a little juggling—Met U didn't allow freshman to room off campus. Sometimes it _was_ good to be a Luthor. Lex grinned. Jonathan wasn't nearly as unreasonable as his son after all. 

Clark caught the tip of Lex's ear his teeth and gently bit down, shaking it just a little bit, just the way Lex liked and was rewarded by a groan. 

"Lex, let me make love to you," Clark said and lifted his fingers to the hem of Lex's shirt, and began inching it up. Lex hissed when his knuckles brushed against his already stiff nipples and lifted his shoulders up so Clark could sweep the tee shirt over his head. Bare-chested now, he lay back against Clark and shuddered. His dick was hard and trapped against his thigh, and Clark's was like an iron bar pressed against his ass. He ground down and Clark gasped loud and grabbed Lex's hips to increase the sensation. "Let me take my pants off Clark—no—both of us—get naked Clark!"

Clark burst out into laughter, and Lex whirled around and glared at him. "I—I'm sorry, that just kind of, you know, was funny. Get naked…" Clark blushed and grinned, and knew that he'd pretty much blown it. Lex scooped his shirt off the floor and stalked away to the stairs. "I'll be in the kitchen, Clark," he huffed and stomped down the stairs while Clark hit himself in the head. He knew better than that, Lex was so fragile—his ego so easily bruised and he'd done the worst thing possible, he'd laughed at Lex. Laughing when he invited you to, that was a world of difference, kind of a gift—shit. He was such an asshole.

He made his way into the kitchen and blinked against the bright lights. His mother was making coffee and setting out plates and Lex and his dad were sitting at the kitchen table, heads bent together over a colorful brochure—trucks? Trucks. Oh god. He was of two minds…he really wanted a new truck, god, did he ever want a new truck, on the other hand, it creeped him out to have Lex buy one for him. He didn't mind splitting the cost—but out and out buy one, like it was a candy bar, to give to him?

His dad looked up and grinned. "Hey son, I'm helping Red pick out a truck." Lex looked up at him blank faced.

"I'm thinking of buying _myself_ a truck." He said very pointedly. "Yes. Since they don't make a one-person truck, I'm thinking of an extended cab—for my friends." Lex tried to infuse that with as much venom as possible and Clark had to admire his ability because yes, that stung, 

Jonathan looked at Lex and then at Clark, a puzzled expression flitting across his face but his mom glanced at him in sympathy. Clark shrugged and his mom frowned, searching his face.

_Crap. She just chose…and yes, there she goes. Why did she always take Lex's side?_ Clark pouted. She stroked her hand over Lex's head and set a glass of milk and a slice of pie in front of him, smiled warmly when Lex turned his face up to hers with a small smile of his own and his mom informed him off-handedly on her way out of the kitchen, "Pie on the counter son. Good night."

He sighed. On his own then. Again. He helped himself to pie and sat, watched Lex and his dad bond over trucks. Part of him was happy and part of him was a little jealous and he wasn't sure of whom. They got along so easily, those two. He snorted and stared at his plate. I'm such an idiot, he thought. Lex isn't the only one who's oversensitive. After all, what other eighteen-year-old guy can claim his dad really liked his boyfriend? He snickered, stuck a towering forkful of peach pie in his mouth as the guys looked at him…and Lex slowly smiled. 

Clark beamed. _Forgiven?_ Lex nodded, a bare tilt of his head and just a fractional increase in his smile and Clark felt a weight lift. Forgiven! 

He chewed his mouthful and watched Lex talking to his dad. Great. He wondered if Lex was going to let him drive his new truck when he got it. He wondered if Lex would let him eat in the new truck. His ears turned pink when he wondered if Lex was going to let him have sex with him in the new truck. When he looked from his plate again, Lex was smirking at him as if he'd read his mind. He probably could if he really wanted to, Clark thought. It wouldn't surprise him in the least. Lex was full of surprises. He smirked at him, tilted his head back and took a long, long drink from his glass, watching Lex all the while. Lex turned pink and swallowed, grinned weakly and shifted in his chair. 

Jonathan felt the air around him kind of…electrify… and he felt that he should maybe just call it a night. He coughed a bit and told Lex he'd get back with him tomorrow about the trucks—maybe they could ride around to some dealers, check them out first hand and Lex nodded and…blushed. And Clark blushed and Jonathan couldn't get out of the kitchen fast enough.

"Good night boys," he called over his shoulder as he made his escape. "Be good," he muttered to himself and snorted. Yeah, he still remembered that age—he was sure it was no more different for those two as it'd been for him. Just, for god's sake, he didn't want to know anything. As long as they were happy, he supposed. And no denying Clark was happy. Since sharing his secret with Lex, it was like Clark was a beacon—he seemed lit up inside all the time now, seemed so happy, and content. 

Jonathan knew damn well how that felt. As he reached the bedroom door, he caught the strip of light shining along the bottom edge. _Ah! She was up still, reading…good._ He smiled. Yes, he knew exactly how Clark felt.

~o0o~

Lex watched Clark put his dish and glass in the sink and handed his over silently, half-eaten pie and half full glass of milk not going to waste—Clark quickly polished off both before putting plate and glass in the sink. 

"So," he asked Lex brightly, "Going to bed?"

Lex smiled and rose from the table, scooting his brochures together into a single pile and picking them up. "I'm going to put these in my room and I might go for a walk, or something…would you like to keep me company? I might need protection—you never know what could be lurking out there." 

Clark frowned at Lex's little joke. He found it much less amusing then Lex did because he knew how many things, really dangerous things lurked out in the dark, hell, so did Lex—it wasn't anything to joke about.

He sighed and followed behind him upstairs to his bedroom and Lex tossed the brochures onto his desk. He kicked off his sneakers and pulled off his socks. "I think I'm going to stay in Clark, you don't mind do you?" 

Clark said he didn't mind at all and tried to keep from staring at Lex's feet- there was something about his bare feet, pale and long, so elegant and graceful, that just—just turned him on. He grinned at Lex and tried to not to be obvious about staring, which brought Clark's eyes to his hands, and they too were long and elegant and his fingers were graceful and strong—so strong. They looked so sexy when they were on his chest or sweeping across his nipples, when Lex twisted a nipple in those long strong pale fingers, god—when he slid a finger around and into his navel, like he was fucking—Clark's breath came heavier, and he swallowed hard….

"Clark! Are you listening to me?" Lex looked more amused, then annoyed, and Clark grinned, tried to respond and gasped instead. Lex's eyes narrowed and he moved over to stand in front Clark where he sat on the bed. Clark was aware of himself like he never was when Lex wasn't near and blushed a little. Lex was too damn sexy. When Lex was near him, he wanted to touch himself—he wanted to feel his own skin and taste it, stroke his own cheek, he wanted to lick his own lips and bite them, wanted to dig his own fingers in the hair curled around the base of his dick—he wanted to know what it felt like to Lex when he touched him.

Lex had been slowly removing his shirt and looking around the room. When he looked down into Clark's eyes again, he smiled. 

Clark thought Lex must be thinking how different this all was, how…poor this was in contrast to what he'd known all his life. The bed squeaked and sank with Lex's weight and Clark scooted back against the headboard. He patted the corduroy bedspread next to him and gave Lex what he hoped was a seductive smile.

Lex slid a finger over Clark's lip, when his lips parted, he leaned in to kiss him deeply, leisurely, letting his tongue roam slowly over his lips and into his mouth, stroking every part, tasting him, Clark thought, and stiffened slightly—Lex pulled back, his mouth was shiny and deep rose, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glittered. 

"Clark—I love you so much," he whispered hoarsely. "I love being here so much—I can never thank your parents enough. This has been the greatest gift I've ever gotten. I feel like I'm home." Tears threatened to spill and Lex blinked quickly, but a tear still caught on his long ginger lashes, grew fat and dropped onto his cheek and Clark leaned forward without thinking and caught it on his tongue. Lex shuddered, Clark dropped his mouth to his round chin and bit it, held it, shook gently and Lex groaned quietly. 

"Every part of you is mine Lex, just like every part of me is yours," Clark whispered. "You're the greatest gift; you're the greatest gift to me." 

"Touch me please, touch me everywhere… please," Lex moaned and Clark inhaled a long shaky breath and ran his hands over Lex's smooth, smooth chest, hands that felt enormous and hot and clumsy as he palmed Lex's ribs, his belly. No matter when he touched him—made love to him—it always felt like the first time ever. It excited him to watch red flush his chest, to feel his skin heat under his fingers, he loved the freckles spattered over his body, his shoulders, and Clark licked them like they were sugar, licking and mouthing them until Lex's skin was wet and red and hot. Lex groaned and jerked, Clark worked his mouth lower, down over his collarbone. He bit and sucked on the twin bows of bone and tasted sweat and soap, tasted salt and Lex—

He moved lower and sucked his nipples, so stiff, so hard, hard as Clark's dick and he rolled his tongue over them, swirled his tongue around them, sucked harder and harder until Lex whined and tried to pull away, "Too—too sensitive," he gasped. Clark flattened his tongue against him to sooth his bruised nipples, and worked his hand down, stroking over all that lovely skin, soft velvet over steel, delicious as cream—unbuttoned his jeans, pulled them away from Lex's body. The sound of the zipper's teeth unlatching filled the air and the first touch of that silky hot length in his hand always made him hard—precome filled his palm and let him slide his hand easily over the head. Lex groaned low and lost against him and he felt it on his lips, still pressed open-mouthed against Lex's chest—he arched at Clark's touch and his hips moved helplessly. "Oh Clark—oh god—oh!"…

Clark shivered as he moved back to Lex's mouth and he felt his skin break out in gooseflesh. He was so hard and it hurt being pressed against his leg, his shorts clung to him— every bit of sound wrung from Lex made his dick jerk and spit—his palm was wet from Lex, wet from sweat and he felt Lex's perfect little teeth grinding in his shoulder—ah! He was sure he was going to come just from that. He pulled back and Lex growled and reached for him. 

"I–I gotta get my clothes off Lex, I'm gonna die in these jeans—"

Lex laughed and groaned at once and let Clark pull back and undress. He groaned when Clark's dick swung free of confinement and Clark had to grab himself, the naked look of lust on Lex's face made his blood boil—made his stomach clench and he wanted to come and he didn't want to come. Precome slicked his leg and Lex lunged forward and licked Clark's leg, his dick, he grabbed him roughly and licked his balls and Clark crammed his hand in his mouth, screamed into his damp palm. God—god—god—he couldn't stop it—he was going to come—he frantically pushed Lex back—"Not yet, oh my god—not yet." His dick was throbbing, his heart, his lungs were burning—he wasn't going to make it—

Lex threw himself back on the bed and frantically shoved his pants off, "Clark, fuck me please!" Clark's eyes widened and the image of himself pushing into Lex just like he'd seen pictures of, like he'd read about—Lex wants that, he wants me to fuck him—oh shit, oh shit—he groaned. "No! Fuck, oh sorry, sorry," and he was coming, his hips bucked forward and lightning seared him—roared out of him in waves, every sense was tuned into this one act—come flew across Lex's stomach, his chest, his chin—every jerk of Clark's dick flung ropes of hot come across his perfect skin and Lex came before he could even touch himself. His eyes flew open and locked on Clark's, open mouthed in a silent scream, he came from just the sensation, just the look on Clark's face. And Clark thought— _that's_ the fucking hottest thing ever, and dropped onto Lex, sides heaving and lungs pulling in air frantically.

"Clark, in a few minutes we're going to do that again, right?"

Clark buried his face in Lex's neck and snorted, laughed harder when Lex joined. "Oh yeah," Lex giggled. "No way you're getting out of it, boy—get hard again, you've got work to do!" 

Clark tried to stop laughing, "Yes sir," he giggled. "Yes sir, you're the boss sir." Life was so good, it really was.


	10. Chapter 10

Whit looked up one side of the street and down the other and tried not to jitter. Why the hell he was so nervous he had no idea. Charlie was just a guy, right? No big deal, he knew guys. It wasn't like he was something special—nice yeah, but no reason to get all goofy. 

"Man." Whit exhaled and rocked on his heels. Messed with the sunglasses in his hand, jammed them on his nose. If Charlie didn't show up, he was going to look like an asshole standing out on the sidewalk like a little lost girl. He looked up the street towards the Beanery. Maybe he should just go there—why didn't he ask him to meet him there anyway? He was feeling on edge, jangly nerves and aching stomach. He'd smoked a little weed to calm down and it was having the opposite effect—shit. 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked away from the Beanery, down the street away from the shops. He was an idiot. He shouldn't have said yes when Charlie asked him to hang out. He should have gone with his instincts and refused. Obviously Charlie had come to his senses.

Whit was at the mouth of the alley where his dad…the fucker…had died, when he heard a car horn behind him. He turned to see Charlie getting out of his car. 

"Whitney! Didn't you hear me? I beeped and yelled your name a couple of times. I hope you weren't trying to be incognito, because I think I blew your cover big time," Charlie grinned, and slapped Whit on the back. Whit winced. He should let him know now that he didn't mind not continuing with this very bad idea…let the guy escape. 

"I know I'm late, sorry about that, but my mom had some things she wanted me to do." Charlie shrugged and rolled his eyes, _parents_ , he seemed to say.

Whit nodded. "You don't have to explain to me," he said and moved out from under Charlie's hand, smiling at him as he got into the car.

"Yes, I do," Charlie said. "I asked you to meet me in town at a certain time and it was rude of me not to be on time. So, I apologize. It's what you do when you screw up, right?" He grinned at Whit and a little shiver raced up his spine. God, Charlie was so fucking cute, all bright blue eyes and bright white teeth, Whit thought. A fucking Marine poster boy, all right.

 

Back in the car and on the road, Charlie chatted on and on about inconsequential things and Whitney soaked it up like a sponge, loved hearing Charlie talk about his life—what being a Marine meant, how he enjoyed music still, but didn't have the chance to play much anymore, what he was reading…he talked a little about his mom and what it'd been like for him at school. Just average, normal everyday stuff and it made Whit feel pretty good.

"Hey, Whitney—how about going to the city? I feel like doing something different, not just burgers and a movie—let's do something exciting. I think I can make it worth your while." He looked at Whit with a sly smile, "You know your way around the city pretty good, right? You've been a lot with your friends?"

Whit sank down in his seat a bit, and some of the glow of the afternoon died. "Sure, I've got nothing but time." He shrugged. "Whatever you want is what I want." A spot in his chest hurt a little and he rubbed it idly.

Charlie smiled, and laughed, "That's an… interesting way to put it, very accommodating." He chuckled and looked ahead, his too long fringe of hair blowing wildly about in the wind from the open car window. Whit felt as if all the warmth in him was being sucked up and spewed out the window with the wind and he shrugged. 

"Yeah? You think so? Can I turn up the radio?"

"Sure, go ahead," Charlie said and Whit turned it up loud enough to feel the bass in his bones, dropped his head against the seat and breathed a sigh of relief. Well, there you go. He didn't have to pretend to be something he wasn't anymore. The guy was pretty as fuck and just like the others even if he hid it better. Whit looked over at him. Charlie had seemed genuinely nice though, he'd really been nice about Whit's little break-down—but then again, people could be that way, put different parts of themselves in little boxes and let out what they wanted, when they wanted. Charlie looked over and at the look on Whit's face he said, "My treat, since I asked you, okay?"

Whit grinned at him. "Your treat, my treat, it's all good, right?" 

Charlie nodded, his eyes on the road, but he took a hand off the wheel long enough to pat Whit's knee before moving it back. Whit was confused for a second, he'd already slid lower in the seat, opened his knees so the guy could get to him. Maybe he didn't like getting touchy feely. No problem. He could be comfortable now that he knew which way this was heading. Whit glanced over at him. What did Charlie want, exactly? How did he want Whit to be? Should he just ask him?

He felt a pang of nervousness; he was getting no clues from the guy. Whit's mind skittered and jumped from thought to thought, his leg jittered up and down as he chewed on his lip. _Oh well, might as well find out what the deal was_ —he tossed his sunglasses to the floor of the car and leaned closer to the guy. "Hey! You want me to blow you?"

Charlie looked at him. "What? I didn't hear you—I think—"

Whit leaned closer and put his hand over the guy's crotch, and squeezed lightly. "You want me to blow you?" There was a hot knot in the center of Whit's chest, and a big grin on his face.

The guy looked at him and winced, looked angry for a moment. He nudged Whit back to his side of the car. "Please don't do that while I'm driving… in fact, don't _do_ that."

Whit smiled and leaned back, spread his knees slightly and rested his hands over his crotch. "You want something else? Or, what, not in the car? We can pull over—fuck it's just gonna be corn for the next billion miles," he smirked and unhooked his belt so he could face Charlie better, ran his hands over the insides of his thighs and waited for clues, waited for Charlie to tell him what to do next. Whit was getting worried, scared. He'd played it wrong maybe. Maybe, he was supposed to wait for the guy to make the move…fuck. If he'd screwed this up, it was a long walk home….

"Jesus," Charlie muttered and pulled slowly over to the side of the road and got out of the car. Whit turned and slid his legs out when Charlie opened his door and reached for his belt, but Charlie yanked him out instead. Whit found himself slammed against the car, blinking in the bright sun and…frightened. What the fuck was going on? Charlie stepped in closer and grabbed his collar and Whit closed his eyes and felt his muscles give. His head dropped forward and he felt his chest constrict, he fought for air, knew the guy's hand was close to his face, he felt it—he waited for the starburst of pain, he expected it—he knew it well. He wasn't prepared for a stroke over his cheek, a hand cupping his chin. 

"Open your eyes, Whitney, swear to god, no one is getting hurt here, okay? Please?"

He opened his eyes slowly and saw Charlie staring at him with a horrified expression. "What the hell happened to you? What have you been through?" he asked and pity and horror colored his tone.

Whit felt the slow burn of anger, it made his knees weak. "Get the fuck off me," he rasped. Don't touch me!"

"Whitney—Whit—"Charlie looked stricken when he asked Whit, "What did you think I was going to do to you?"

Whit laughed a little. "Nothing, nothing bad, Charlie. Just—nothing. It's okay." He brushed the Charlie's hand off of him. "God—you act like something awful happened. It's no big deal. Can we just get back in the car?"

Charlie nodded. "Buckle, okay? I don't drive unless everyone's buckled."

Whit agreed and Charlie put the car in drive, u-turned and headed back to Smallville.

"What gives?" Whit asked and went upright in his seat, "You're throwing me back?" He tried to laugh, he felt panicky, his eyes were gritty, his throat was dry and his chest and gut were killing him and it was Charlie's fault—superior son-of-a-bitch—snob, bastard. "Hey, you don't know what you're missing, motherfucker—I can make you come so hard you'll see stars! You'll think you died and came back to life!" Whit lost it, he couldn't stop shouting. 

Charlie reached over and turned the radio down, "How about we just get burgers first, okay?" he said mildly.

Whit closed his eyes and remained silent. He felt his face burning—he felt like an idiot. He wished he were dead so he wouldn't ever have to think about his life again. He wouldn't think about sometimes missing Wade, even after all that shit—he wouldn't have to think about the Sam shaped hole burning in the middle of him—or just what a fucking whore he was.

"Hey, hey," Whit heard. "Let's just start over, okay? I know I can be overpowering what with my enormous sex appeal; I've learned to live with it. It's a burden," Charlie sighed theatrically. And Whit laughed, more from shock than actual amusement, but laughing felt good.

Charlie smiled and said, "Good, that's a step. Food first, movies next, and we're going to have an everyday average Smallville night, what do you say?"

Whit said, "Great. Fine, better than. An average night sounds good." He had no way to tell Charlie that the closest he'd ever had to an average night, he'd been fucking his friend. _What an asshole I am…._

Charlie's voice was kind, and soft. "You really need to stop doing that—that disappearing act."

Whit nodded, "Yeah, I know, I know…"

Over burgers and greasy fires and too-thick shakes at a retro styled diner outside of Smallville, Whit explained as much as he could to Charlie about his life, and what happened. He got angry, because no matter how he tried to downplay it, it ended up sounding overly dramatic and he hated that. He didn't want Charlie to think he was whining, playing for sympathy….

He'd told Charlie about Clark and Lex, about Wade, and told an extremely altered version of his death. Charlie got quieter as he talked about Wade and Whit trailed off because Charlie looked so…horrified. Whit went silent and sighed. "That's why I didn't want to say anything—you know, before."

The look Charlie gave him was sympathetic and serious, thoughtful. "Whitney. Do you… like men? Do you like sex, because—" Whit started to reply, but Charlie pressed on, "because it seems like Wade kind of made your choices for you, and anyone that shows you any kind of kindness, you screw. Is that what sex is to you, kid? Reward—punishment? Because I hear you beating yourself up with it too."

Whit got angry, "You don't know what it's like to be me. That's all I have." He dropped back against the seat back, feeling oddly drained and tired. The momentary flash of rage was gone, leaving him hollow. "Wow, burgers and psychoanalysis. Lucky, lucky me."

Charlie glanced around the diner quickly, and reached over the table and grabbed Whit's hand, squeezed and said, "I'm so fucking sorry. I really am."

He didn't say more. Whit shrugged and colored, "Yeah, what the fuck." He didn't move his hand, and Charlie squeezed again before letting go. 

"You're a pretty strong guy, Whitney. Hell, you're hard-core—that's a lot of stuff to go through and survive. You've done the best you could, I think. You can be proud."

Whit laughed. " Yeah, look at me, all strong and whining, like a little bitch."

Charlie smiled. "Hell, yes, you're brave. You're here aren't you? Still standing, still breathing. That's a hell of a lot. Give yourself credit for getting out of bed in the morning." He leaned closer and spoke softly. "And I think there's a Whitney in there who still believes in love." He leaned back and was silent, his blue eyes sparkling as if he'd told Whit a wonderful secret.

Whit searched Charlie's eyes for any sign he wasn't what he appeared to be…a decent guy, a _nice guy._ He looked open and honest, with a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. Okay, not a saint, thank god, but a decent guy. Whit nodded. Good.

They left the diner as the sky was turning gray and were driving on towards Smallville, when Whit tapped Charlie on the arm. "Turn here, there's a lake out here I want to go to." Charlie raised an eyebrow but did what Whit asked.

They parked and stepped out and walked down to the shore of the lake. They stood for a while, watching the reflection of the moon shiver on the lake surface. Whit stood a little apart from Charlie, arms crossed and Charlie waited, hands in his pockets, his expression content, relaxed. After a small amount of time, Whit cleared his throat and turned to the other man.

"Can I tell you more stuff?" Whit asked. 

Charlie nodded and took one hand out of his pocket. "Can I hold your hand?" he asked.

Whit smiled and nodded. "Sure. I'd…I don’t mind." 

Whit talked and talked as they walked around the shore of the lake and Charlie nodded and stroked his thumb over the back of Whit's hand, after a while, when Whit stopped talking and just looked into his face, he stroked his arm and then his shoulder and finally his neck. He leaned in hesitantly. When Whit tipped his face up, he kissed him. Whit thought it was a lot like kissing Lex—sweet, and slow and thorough—- a kiss that explored, touched everything, a kiss that conquered gently, and filled the senses until all there was, was this single kiss.

Whit gasped when Charlie stopped kissing him, and stood frozen, afraid to move.

"Whitney? Was—are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah," Whit said and felt light and happy. "I'm very okay. You kiss good," he added and grinned. 

Charlie grinned back. "Thank you—I can sing too. And I can do this."

He did a little dance until Whit stopped him, laughing, "Okay, dancing—not one of your accomplishments." He looked harder at Charlie. "I can show you some things I know how to do." And he touched Charlie's face, his chest, his waist….

Charlie breathed, "Oh! Really? But just what you want to do, only if you want to do it. You don't have to, not at all," he said it in a firm, decisive way and didn't move closer and Whit relaxed further.

"We could just, you know, kiss? For right now? That'd be nice."

Charlie smiled and stepped closer, nodding. "Very nice, he grinned. "I believe I've demonstrated my ability in that area—I believe I gave satisfaction?" His eyes glittering, he bowed in an exaggerated way, sweeping an imaginary hat from his head. Whit laughed, and bowed back, still laughing when Charlie gently guided him to the grass.

Under the nearly black sky, Whit let Charlie touch him. He touched him so softly, like he was breakable. He hummed a song, low and sweet and it made Whit curious. It wasn't a song he recognized.

"Mmm, what's that you're singing?" Charlie was singing against his neck now and it buzzed pleasantly. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion and it soothed him and turned him on at the same time.

"Oh—"and Charlie whispered against his throat, half spoke, half sang— "Someday, when I'm awfully low…when the world is cold…I will feel a glow…" he laughed softly along with Whit and continued, "just thinking… of you…and the way you look tonight…it's a song Fred Astaire sang in Swing Time a really, really, old movie…don't worry. I know you've never heard of either. I have a thing for old songs, old movies…and pretty boys." Whit laughed again and Charlie snickered. "Okay, I'm corny and my lines suck. But I mean it…you are, you know. Pretty." and his voice was so sincere that Whit just swallowed, and closed his eyes. 

Charlie slid his hands lightly around Whit's shoulders and kissed along his neck and down his shoulders up again to his jaw, nipping around his chin and nibbling at his lips and all the time, soothing, smoothing movements of his hands, a light touch that was driving him insane— he wanted to yell _'touch me, damn it, really touch me'_

It was full dark finally, only stars and the moon lit the sky, and Whit felt like he was in the sky—his head swam from the feeling of being on edge for what seemed like hours. 

Charlie gasped "Whitney—I'm not sure how you feel about this, but I'd really like to be closer to you right now. Like closer than this, much closer."

Whit's head cleared and he heard the words, he wanted it too. However Charlie wanted it, he did too. "Here?" he gasped.

Charlie grinned a little, "Well, no actually, I don't have anything with me—"

Whit laughed a little. "Me either—new life as a virgin. That's not working out all that well for me."

Charlie hesitated but grinned back when he saw Whit was laughing, "You look so good when you just—laugh to be laughing, y'know?"

Whit pulled Charlie's face close. "I know a motel and a pharmacy not far from here, if we still have money left from burgers?"

"Oh hell yeah, I brought money for museums and fancy dinner and cheesy souvenirs." At Whit's puzzled look, he continued, "You know, our aborted field trip to the city?"

 _Oh._ Whit beamed. It had been a real date…and he'd blown it, but the warm feeling in his chest made it hard to feel bad. 

Charlie murmured against his neck, nuzzling him between words, "We have enough for what we need: a room, lube, rubbers and chips…I get hungry after. And orange juice…maybe some cookies, cookies are always good…"

Whit stared at him, and burst out laughing. This was going to be different, no doubt.

~o0o~

Whit stood in the middle of the room and looked around while Charlie turned down the bed. He looked over at Whit and asked him, "Not as nice as places you're used to?

Whit looked at him in astonishment. "No! I mean…I've never actually been to a motel, it's been pretty much…"and stopped. Well. What was there to say?

Charlie said, "Come on—never? Where did you—never mind, that was stupid," and he blushed. "And none of my business, really." He stood upright and looked down at the bed, crisp white sheets exposed, the brown blanket peeled away from the top and folded towards the foot of the bed, and blushed.

Whit watched his cheeks flame and grinned. That streak that always made him try and tease Red to distraction came awake and was ready to play. "So. What are you doing?" he drawled and watched Charlie search for an answer. 

Charlie blushed even harder. Whit marveled. He didn't think it was possible the guy could blush any more. Weren't Marines supposed to be tougher than that? "Hi—did you hear me? What are you doing—what are you _going_ to do, I should say."

Charlie waved his hands about and grinned and looked a little embarrassed. "I'm…ah…think I'm. I'm going to get undressed?"

Whit smiled at him, "Well, yeah, if you're sure…you have done this before?"

"Of course I have! Lots of times…I'm pretty good at it too." Charlie started to take his clothes off, hesitated. "I may be exaggerating a bit. On…on both counts…."

Whit laughed and pulled his clothes off, flinging them behind him and jumped onto the bed. Charlie looked surprised, grinned and quickly undressed himself, slid under the covers. "Well, now that we have that awkward ‘standing in your underwear and socks' part out of the way—"

Whit kissed him, pulled him closer and Charlie gasped when they touched. 

Charlie was everywhere, enthusiastic, eager but gentle. With lips, fingers, tongue, Charlie searched out every part of Whit's body that made him fill with heat, made him groan. he was tasted and touched and stroked and kissed until he was nearly wild from it—his heart hammered in his chest and throat, he'd never felt it this way before. Never so…happy…so free. Whit had nothing to compare this feeling to; he had no idea how to act. 

Charlie kissed his way around Whit's chest, sucked a reddened and throbbing nipple into his mouth as his hand roamed along Whit's hips, cradled his hard and leaking dick. "I'm so—this is so amazing," he groaned.

Whit shook at the sound of his voice, "But I'm not doing anything…"he panicked briefly, and grabbed Charlie's hand, but Charlie stopped him, raised Whit's hand to his mouth and kissed it.  
.  
"Don't you know how good this feels to me? Look at you, god—look at you." Charlie laughed, his voice shaky and weak. He dropped his head on Whit's shoulder. " Now, please,"Charlie whispered, "I have to have more, I need all of you."

Whit felt fear lance through him. How could he tell Charlie—he could stop him, he knew Charlie would stop if he asked but it wasn't fair. Whit owed him…more. Hot breath skated over his hip and he shook. A stoke of wet tongue over his dick, over his thighs, between his thighs and he was shaking, fighting to relax as Charlie lifted his legs, gently spread his knees.

"You know I wouldn't hurt you—are you okay?" 

Whit lay back, eyes closed as he nodded, bit his lip a little and waited. Charlie deserved this. He owed it to him. He felt a light touch against his hole and jerked back a little—everything stopped while he caught his breath and then urged Charlie on, pressed against Charlie's head with shaking fingers, and now the touch was firmer, hot and wetter and he felt a first streak of—pleasure, it ran into his gut and pooled there, he felt warmer, and his breath came shorter, the smooth wet heat circled him, thrust gently in and he felt a river of warm pleasure fill him, relax him and at the same time pull him tight as a wire—he stopped trying to control the noise he made and tried to ride the tongue that tortured him so sweetly—so wonderfully. 

"Charlie, Charlie, ah—ah—" Whit's hips cleared the bed when Charlie eased the tip of a finger into him, rolling across the whorl of muscle, pushing in and suddenly Whit felt him, inside, stroking him, pressing against a spot in side of him that made shocks of pleasure light his nerves and fill his head. 

"Charlie, please, please!" Whit was beside himself and shocked at himself. He wanted this like never before. It'd moved from being something for Charlie to something he really needed for himself—he wanted to feel Charlie inside, he wanted to make Charlie break over him like he was breaking over Charlie- and when his mouth closed over him Whit knew he was going to die. His hips pushed up and up and he couldn't get enough—it was too much and then just right, and he broke into a million pieces. 

Almost before he could catch his breath Charlie was kneeling between his legs, was pressing into him, slowly carefully, and rubbing and stroking him the entire time, talking to him, telling Whit how wonderfully hot and tight, how good, how beautiful he was, how special and it made Whit feel like he was all those things. Charlie stroked in, long, deep, and still careful, never taking his eyes off Whit, checking him— careful even when he bit his own lips raw, even when he shook and panted and moaned—even when he shouted and looked stunned to be coming, he never took his eyes off Whit. When he stopped and brought Whit off again, his blue eyes glowed with the pleasure of Whit screaming for him.

Whit lay with his arms around Charlie, and Charlie wrapped around him, petting him and murmuring, covering his chest with tiny kisses and he felt—alive, all over alive. It was great, it was wonderful—it was fun! He grinned into the darkness and tightened his grip on Charlie who made a little noise of contentment and pushed back. "I acted like an idiot earlier—I'm so glad you didn't take me home." Whit said. 

"Ah—you're glad? I'm ecstatic! I'm a whole bunch of other words—I'm hoping you'll want to do this again soon?" Charlie kissed him hard and wetly and pulled back with a pop. "Right after cookies?"

Whit relaxed against the bed. He nodded, knowing the grin on his face was huge and goofy and he didn't give a fuck.

~o0o~

Abbie stood, hands on hips, and looked around. The apartment was nice. It was bright and sunny, filled with lovely furniture and just the right amount of afro-centric details, enough to be political without being radical. Sheryl's touch, no doubt. She nodded. Yes. She'd hired a very gifted designer to ‘do their place'. It was…tasteful, elegant.  
She sat on the couch and waited for Sam to speak. He smiled at her.

"So, mom—how do you like the place?"

 _I love it, honey._ was on her tongue. What came out was, "I hate it Sam."

He grinned wider, "God! Me too! It's just—just…."

"Pretentious and slick?" she offered. "Soulless? Cold and—"

"Thank you mother, yes, all that," Sam grinned wryly. 

She smiled briefly and then put her business face on. "All right, you want to tell me why you asked us up here, son?" Abbie sat back on the very comfortable couch and crossed her ankles and waited.

"Actually, I wanted to know if…well, I might need to come home for a while." Sam sat across from her, stiff faced and slightly nervous. 

"Do you want to wait until your father can hear this too?" She asked, eyebrows raised.

"No, ma'm, what I've got to say I want to say to you."

Abbie waited.

"I'm getting a divorce." Sam paused and looked at his mother but Abbie didn't move or speak. He went on. "She's at her parent's this week and at the end of the week, I'm out of here. And this is all hers."

"She'll be happy here." Abbie said, and waited again.

"Yeah. I'm sure. I'm leaving my job."

Abbie started to speak and sat back again. She wasn't having that fight either. She nodded.

"And—I want to make things better with Whit."

She closed her eyes and sank back against the couch. She counted to ten—and counted again.

"There's nothing I can say about that, Samuel. You have to do what you think is right for you."

"Thanks Mom," he said, immediately on the defensive. "Thanks for being behind me one hundred percent. Like always. Glad you're not blaming Whit for any of this," Sam snapped.

"Whit's not at fault here, not in the least. He's doing everything he can to lead a normal life, even when the people around him haven't helped much." She watched Sam blush and scowl at her without responding—she waited.

Sam made a disgusted noise and flung himself back in his chair, arms crossed and staring at her. It hurt to see him in pain, of course it did—but coddling wasn't what he needed, she thought. It was about time for him to step up to the plate—for both of them. 

"It's always about blame with you, ma—it's always my fault! You just can't stand the thought I'm gay. You're prejudiced."

Abbie shook her head. "You think I'm prejudiced? Maybe you're right. It's always easy when it's someone else's kid to be understanding and accepting. It's a world of difference when it's your own and you've been raised your whole life to think it's wrong. No." She held up her hand, "I do not think it's wrong anymore, at least I don't think I do…but it's just…different when it's your baby, I can't explain, you just have to take my word for it. And Sam, hon, what you say, it makes me sad. It worries me. As far as society goes, you've already got one strike against you, now you've got another."

He made a noise that cut through her, but she kept on speaking. "I know you haven't been happy for a long time. I don't have answers and I don't know what the future's going to bring you. I _want_ you to be happy son. It's all I've ever wanted for you."

Sam dropped his head into his hands "Mom…Mom, you don't know…I feel like dying sometimes." He drew in a deep shaky breath and said, "Sometimes I think it'd be easier for you and Dad…and me if I was. It's not fair."

Abbie sat silently, watched him struggle with himself. This thing was something he had to come to grips with on his own. She sat and watched him as long as she could stand to.

She got up and sat next to him, put her arms around him. The minute she touched him, he almost crawled into her lap and cried. She struggled not to cry herself; she had to be strong for him. She'd allow herself to cry later. Strength was what he needed now. He needed to be reminded how strong he was. He'd get through this too. Nobody was going to stand in his way, least of all her.

~o0o~

Whit trotted slowly up the drive, grinning at the sight of Pete and Mike hanging out on the front porch steps. Cool. He was sweating and puffing from his run. He figured if he was going into the service he'd be in halfway good shape. Not that he was in bad shape but…

He felt pretty good actually. He'd gotten a call from Charlie and made plans to get together, that always made him feel good. Whit slipped the towel from around his neck and rubbed it across his face to hide his grin and blush. He smiled at the guys as he came up to the porch. "Brothers. How are we this fine motherfucking morning?"

Pete snorted and rolled his eyes. "Umm-humm. _We_ are just fine, cause we're not stinking and drippy. You, on the other hand…."Pete waved his hand in front of his face. Mike watched them and grinned. 

Whit grinned back. "Mike, good to see you, at least. What're you doing home?"

"Helping Sam move back, I'm thinking," Mike answered and leaned back on his elbows.

Whit froze. Shit. "You're kidding. Move back, as in move back home?"

Pete nodded. "As in third room down the hall move in, ‘sharing the bathroom with even more folks' move in."

Whit dropped down onto the stair. "No. I don't want to be in the same house with Sam."

Pete looked offended. "Oh, ‘scuse the hell out of us— you can always hide out at the Kent's until he leaves again—oh wait! Lex is there. Well, maybe they'll let you sleep in the barn." Pete glared at Whit and shifted away from him on the step.

Whit looked at Pete. What the hell was his problem? "I didn't mean it like that. I mean—well, I might not be here all that long anyway. I'm thinking of enlisting."

Both Mike and Pete looked surprised. "Wow, really Whit? Damn!" Pete began, stopped suddenly and frowned at Whit, "Hey, you're not doing it just ‘cause Charlie's a Marine, are you?" he asked. 

Mike looked over at him, waiting for him to answer. 

He laughed. "No, I'm not stupid. It's not like that with Charlie anyway. We're just friends, you know— friends with bennies, that's all."

Pete made a face. "Ew. Thanks, I can live without that mental image…even though, sweet if you can get it that way I guess…"Whit laughed and Pete smirked, trying to look serious and failing. Before they could go on, Mike cut in with a dry cough. 

"We were talking about the service, gentlemen…"

"Yeah. From talking to Charlie, I just think it's the best option I have right now. I can go to school; I'll be paid, get benefits—"

"Like the danger of getting killed in foreign places, a homophobic commander…"Pete ticked his points off on his fingers. "I'm not trying to stop you Whit, I just want you to be sure of what you're doing."

Mike cut his eyes to Pete and frowned. "Pete's got valid points there, Whitney. If you've talked to Charlie about it, I'm sure he's told you it's not easy. Still, you make your own choice; you're not a minor anymore." He stood and gave Whit a long look before speaking again. "Think hard about making that decision. You might find things have changed." Mike smiled briefly, before going into the house. 

Pete stared at him. "Whit. You're not running from him are you, or us…are you running from us?"

"No! No, Pete, I honestly think the service would be good for me. I need to get away from all this—start over again, and maybe do it right this time, you know?"

Pete nodded. "Yeah. I don't want you to go away though." He looked in Whit's eyes. "I really don't want you to leave."

Whit laughed. "Pete, I'm not leaving tomorrow. Besides, in a few months, you'll be gone, all you guys. What am I going to do? Sit around Mom's house all day? Drive Dad Ross into a frenzy?"

Pete groaned. "Why won't you let them help you get into school? They can, you know—"

"Pete—my fucking grades aren't taking me anywhere." Whit closed his eyes and sincerely wished that Pete would drop it already. His stomach was clenched just a little and his previous good mood nearly evaporated.

"But you can fix it, Whit. You've got time, you can pull your grades up, you know, you could go to the community college…."

Whit sighed. "I've had this same speech from Red and Clark and Lana and Mom Ross."

"Yeah, because it's a good idea. Okay. Just think about it first, okay? Don't be influenced by a hot guy in uniform. Yes, fuck you Whit, he was hot looking." Pete crossed his arms over his chest and waited for it. 

"Aw, Pete, your first straight boy-crush!" Whit punched Pete in the shoulder. "I'm so proud. I feel like I've watched an angel get his wings."

Pete cracked up—"Shut the fuck up!" he flipped Whit off before jumping to his feet.

Whit grinned up at him and shook his head, "Wow, I'm going to have to rat you out to Clark—this language of yours! Tsk! What a potty mouth."

The front door opened and Abbie stood there, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. "You know I could hear you boys all the way from the kitchen? You—"she fixed Pete with an icy stare. "Need to watch that mouth." Her eyes pinned Whit next. "And you—oh, we're going to have a nice little chat, we are, Mr. Done Lost His Damn Mind."

Pete edged past his mom, and when she made a move towards him, dashed into the house. She watched him run and turned to Whit, a big smile on her face, her eyes gleaming. "I can't help it—it makes me laugh." She shook her head. "That's mean, isn't it?" 

She looked at Whit with mock contrition and it startled a laugh out of him. "Mom Ross! You did that on purpose, just to make him run?" He giggled again and she sat next to him. 

"Sometimes, I just have to." Abbie smiled, and then looked Whit up and down thoughtfully before going on. "You and I are going to have that chat. But first, I have to say…"

Whit steeled himself for a lecture and all she said was, "I don't want you to leave." She came over to where Whit sat and kissed the top of his head. "I want to keep you for a while yet." Abbie smiled, and patted his shoulder. Whit stood still as she went into the house, stunned and really…happy.

~o0o~

"So—Clark. Do you think Whit's insane?" Lex asked. Clark looked up from the magazine he was reading and sighed. He sat up—there was no way he wasn't going to be pulled into this discussion, he might as well speak his mind.

"Well, no—no I don't, he should do what he wants to do…what he thinks is right for him. After all, no one can lead Whit's life for him, even if he makes choices _you_ don't like, Lex." He shrugged at the look he got from Lex and laid back on the rug.

"Thank you Clark," Whit said, and threw a couch pillow at him. "I especially liked the part where you talked about me like I'm not here," he said, and tried to ease Lex off the edge of the couch. Clark grinned and rolled across the floor to get closer.

"Shut up Whit, I'm on your side. Lex, if Whit thinks the service can be good for him, then that's what he should do".

"Clark! Hush! Whit—obviously your mind has been clouded by very good sex. It can happen."

Pete made a "keep it down" gesture towards Lex from his spot on the floor front of the TV. "I don't need mom coming in here, you guys, I'm trying to get somewhere here…" he returned his attention to the game on the screen.

Clark snorted and picked up his magazine and acted like he had no interest in the conversation.

"Charlie seems to be happy but that doesn't mean you'll be happy and frankly I honestly can't imagine you in a super-structured environment like the Marines. You're just too…too…"Lex waved his hands about and searched for a diplomatic way to say what he wanted.

"Unwilling to pay attention to other people? Fails to follow directions? Hardheaded? Mule-like? That works too," Pete said, more than happy to help Lex in his search. He leaned to the side to avoid the pillow he knew was coming. "You better put those pillows back on the couch, too." 

Whit rolled his eyes at Pete and turned back to the other boys.

"So, more importantly, what did Abigail and Bill say?" Clark looked at Whit over the top of the magazine.

Whit stopped trying to push Lex off the couch and looked thoughtful. "Well, they told me they'd help pay for college if I wanted to go. My grades are okay, good if I work at it. I'd have no problem getting into community college…I could transfer after a couple of years."

"Okay, why not do that?" Clark asked.

"I don't know. It doesn't seem fair to the Rosses, you know…"

Pete cut in with a snort. "Oh please. For gods sake. How many times do they have to tell you, you're family? Every family's got a knucklehead in it—you're ours." He smirked at Whit and Whit laughed. "It's what we do, boy; we look out for each other."

"Thanks, I think…and I know, Abigail's told me that." Whit shook his head. "I'm thinking about it—okay Red?" he said pointedly to Lex. "I can get a job, to help pay for it…she really does love me, you know," he said in an awed tone of voice.

"Geez Whit, you're such an idiot. How many times do you have to be told? They do, they love you." Pete said loudly. " _We_ love you."

Whit nodded. "I know that. I do."

"Anyway, talk to guidance, school starts in a few days and that's what they get paid for." Pete said.

Lex nodded. "Exactly. Talk to them before you talk to a recruiter, okay? Make sure you've got all the facts."

Whit threw himself on Lex "Yes, fucking yes, Red! Jesus you're such a nag! How the fuck do you stand it, Clark?"

Clark smiled slightly, watched them as they wrestled. All the facts, yes—a typical Lex statement. Clark wondered what facts Lex was gathering—there was surely something going on in that scarily clear mind of his. He was preparing himself for action of some kind and all signs led to another confrontation with Lionel. Whatever Lex was planning had to do with him in some way, Clark was sure. Something to do with the damn secret. He was worried about Lex already—and if it concerned Lionel, there was a good chance he'd have to protect Lex from the cold-blooded old bastard.

Clark sighed. Was this what his life with Lex was going to be like? Saving him from himself? Keeping him from hurting himself? He watched him discussing Whit's options with him, so earnest and determined. So full of concern for Whit, so absorbed, so… relaxed. Clark had to smile; he couldn't help it. When Lex was content, so was he.

If saving Lex was going to be the primary reason for his existence, so be it. He was worth it. 

Lex glanced his way and tossed him a quick smile before sending Pete for a calculator. Lex was in teaching mode. Teaching. He was born to be a teacher, Clark thought. He'd be perfect. He could see Lex as a teacher—a professor—Professor Luthor. 

In his mind, Professor Luthor looked like a Hogwarts instructor, and he snickered to himself. Oh yeah, definitely cute.

~o0o~

Charlie walked around the side of the car and squinted against the bright sunlight. It reflected off the parking lot like sun off snow—blinding and harsh and making his eyes water. It didn't seem to bother Whit at all. He sat in the open back of the car and noisily sucked down the coke he'd bought him.

 

"So—how long are you going to be gone?" Whit asked him. Charlie sighed a little, looked out over the field. The little pavilions where grills and benches were sheltered were empty today. No kids ran about the swings and slides, it was quiet enough to hear the buzzing of insects in the tall grass, quiet enough to hear the leaves scrapping against each other in the breeze. He threw an arm across the top of the hatchback door and leaned his head on his forearm. 

"Two years. And then—I don't know."

"Sure," Whit nodded and looked up at Charlie. "I get that. Damn. I'm going to miss you, you know." He reached out and tugged on the end of Charlie's tie, and he grinned down at him. Whit was so much more relaxed than when he'd first met him, his expression more open and just…happier. He liked to think he had something to do with that. He hoped he did.

"Me too Whit. I'll miss you a lot. You're a good guy. I'm glad I got to know you." Charlie covered Whit's fingers briefly, before smoothing his tie out of his loose grasp. Whit ducked his head and grinned, his hair falling over his eyes and hiding a blush and Charlie blinked rapidly, he was suddenly overwhelmed with tenderness at the unusual display on Whit's part. 

"Yeah, well, you put up with a lot of shit from me, Charlie."

Charlie leaned against the car and smiled at Whit. He had no idea, this boy, no idea of the effect he had. He was totally unaware of how easy he was to love, how much people wanted to take care of him and—just love him. "Not really, Whit. Not really," he said instead of what he wanted to say… _I know I'm going to lose you the minute I leave and it hurts. I love you but you won't ever know…_.

~o0o~

Whit looked Charlie over. Goddamn, he looked good. Those uniforms were walking wet dreams. The khaki shirt and tie were crisp and sharp and not wilting even in the pounding heat of the summer sun. The blue pants with their red stripe looked like they'd been tailored to show off his ass, Whit thought, but since it was Charlie, he doubted it was purposeful. It was just—luck, he grinned and looked the man up and down. "You look good enough to eat," he said.

Charlie groaned. "Don't say that—we're right out in the middle of the lot," but he laughed a little and blushed, pleased and flattered.

"There's no one out here," he said. He grabbed Charlie's tie and pulled him down towards him. "No one can see us," he said and kissed him. Charlie laughed into Whit's mouth.

"You're bad! We'll get caught." But his eyes were warm and he smiled happily, and wrapped his hands around Whit's neck, slid his thumbs under his jaw and tilted his head back. "Whit, jeez—you make me so…"

He pressed his mouth against Whit's. Soft push of lip against lip and a little sigh of air leaked out and warmed Whit's chin, licked lightly against his mouth and pulled slightly down on Whit's jaw with his thumbs, just a gentle hint of movement, a delicate touch asking for permission to kiss him more intimately. Whit tipped his head back and let Charlie control the kiss, let him press his lips open and touch him, let his slick warm tongue sweep all thought away. Hands reached up and touched, heat bloomed along limbs and hearts beat faster….

Whit pulled at the tightly tucked shirt, and Charlie leaned back to watch him yank out the shirt tails, and work open the buttons, His breath came faster with each button undone until his shirt hung loose and open and Whit reached up and loosened his tie, he wrapped his hand around it, used it to pull Charlie close and bite at his neck.

"Ow-ouch…Whit! I can't show up for duty with a hickey…god…" But he didn't move away and didn't stop Whit and Whit couldn't stop, Charlie tasted so good, so clean, a hint of soap and slight tang of salt and sweat, he smelled fresh and clean, like summer.

Whit pressed teeth against Charlie's skin, nibbled and sucked and licked the tender skin until Charlie was gasping and pressing back against Whit's mouth, a hand on either side of his legs as he bent to get closer to him. Whit huffed impatiently and pulled Charlie into the car with him, nestling him against his crotch, and running his hands up under the a-shirt to drag his nails across his chest, across his hard nipples.

"Shit!" Charlie jerked so hard against him he could feel his dick jump and his twitched in sympathy.

He grinned— when Charlie started cursing it was all over. Whit rolled him to his back, reached down and ran his hands over the red stripes on the pants legs, and Charlie groaned—"Stop teasing me!" 

Whit paid him no mind, running his hands over and over the stripes as he sucked and licked Charlie's nipples and listened to him beg. Finally, he ran his hands up the inside of Charlie's legs and he almost sobbed in gratitude. He held Whit's wrists as he undid the zipper, not stopping him, just needing the contact to ground himself, so turned on he shook like a twig in a gale…

"Let's do this," Whit said and stood and guided him outside again, to the side of the car that faced the woods. Whit leaned Charlie against the warm metal. He knelt and rubbed his chin against the bulge pushing against the open zipper and bit along the ridge, the rough wool feeling oddly perfect against his tongue. Whit was so hard himself now, he needed to touch himself…he folded back the material, pulled out Charlie's dick, so hard, dark and jumping with each stroke of his palm. Charlie groaned as Whit bent to place a kiss on the tip, and his dick swung up and slid across Whit's lips, painting a moist stripe against them, making Whit's mouth open on a moan.

Whit leaned aback and took in the sight, Charlie leaning against the car, hair in his face, blue eyes shocked and wide with lust, his tie hanging loose and brushing against his bare skin. His undershirt was pushed up under his arms, his shirt hung free and framed his dick, straining up from the folded back fabric of his pants.

Whit unzipped and thrust his hand into his own pants, wrapped his fingers around his dick and jerked roughly, fast, hard, a little painful but so good, watching Charlie watching him…Fuck. He leaned forward and licked Charlie into his mouth, swallowed him down as far as he could….

"Whit, Whit, oh my god," Charlie jerked up to his toes and shoved the heel of his hand between his teeth, trying not to scream. Whit sucked hard and slipped a finger alongside Charlie's dick, wetting it, stroking, before teasing him with his wet finger, sliding it back between his shaky legs around the trembling ring of muscle. When his finger slid into the tight soft heat, Whit trembled from head to toe; he was seconds from coming, and could feel Charlie was almost there as well. 

Charlie groaned through clenched teeth and threw his head back hard enough to hit the car, and a strangled scream poured out between his teeth "Fuck! Coming—coming…"he wrenched forward over Whit and Whit could feel it, feel him clamp down on his finger—muscles fluttered and spasmed as he came, holding Whit's head and gasping "Come with me, come with me"—and that was the trigger for Whit, warm shocks of pleasure hit him, squeezed him as come spurted up, out, filled his fist and spattered on the ground between his spread knees and he shook and groaned around Charlie's dick.

When he could open his eyes again and stand, he caught a look like awe on Charlie's face. "What?"

"Nothing, just—you're so pretty. You really are," Charlie whispered.

"Yeah, I know," Whit grinned, "pretty as a picture and speaking of picture, why don't I have a camera now—damn. You should see yourself, you're so sexy."

Charlie giggled. "Mmm-humm. Too bad, they'd make great Christmas cards I'll bet." He pulled his tie loose and tucked it in a pants pocket. "You—make yourself useful. Get wet-wipes from the glove compartment." He tried to scowl but it broke into a smile. "Please?"

Whit's heart swelled with affection. The look on Charlie's face reminded him of Red. He smoothed Charlie's hair out of his face and kissed his forehead. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he said. 

Charlie looked surprised and he smiled back. "So far, babe, so far. Life's going to be good to you, Whit…if you let it be," he added.

Whit patted his shoulder and went to get the wipes.

~o0o~

"Hey, Lex," Clark called out, dumped his book bag on the floor next to Lex's desk and dropped onto his bed. "What are you doing?"

"Mmm. Nothing important Clark, just messing around." He stopped what he was working on, closed the laptop and smiled at Clark. "What took you so long? I've been home a half hour already." He swiveled the chair so that he faced Clark and stretched out to rest his feet on Clark's lap.

"Oh, I stopped after school to talk to Whit." Clark stroked his thumbs over Lex's instep and frowned a little. "He looked a little lost today. I guess he kind of got attached to Charlie. He's missing him. Me too, Charlie was a nice guy."

"I thought they were just friends. Is he that upset?" Lex said, and groaned a little as tense muscles relaxed—wiggled his feet just to make Clark laugh. "I'm sure he'll be fine, Whit I mean…"

"Well, yeah, sure but even so, he misses him. Personally I think something else is bothering him too, but he won't say." Clark patted Lex's feet and moved them to the side.

Lex nodded, he knew Whit would talk it all out when he was ready and no point in badgering him until he was. Lex sighed a little and glanced at the laptop. 

Clark stood and told him he was going to the kitchen for a snack.

"Join you in a minute, Clark," Lex replied and waited until Clark left the room before taking a folder out of the bottom drawer of his desk.

So, he thought. Closer and closer to absolute freedom. He tapped the folder against his lip and thought about possible courses of action but every action led back to one overpowering fact—his dad was by no means an idiot and Clark had left himself open to danger when he'd saved him…. Lex felt he'd accomplished the smallest part of his goal when he was able to pay for University. Now he had to make sure somehow that Clark was protected from Lionel.  
And when he'd accomplished that, he need never deal with his father again. 

He'd be finished forever with being a Luthor. He wanted none of it. He wanted a quiet life, as normal a life as possible, with Clark by his side and his friends—his real family—next to him. He stroked the folder and put it back in his drawer under a pile of papers. With what he had here and what he could get, he'd make sure Clark was safe.

That night when everyone was asleep, he went again to the computer and opened the site he'd visited earlier that day. Lex bit at his lip—he thought he might be on to something here, but what he wasn't sure. Some instinct told him what he wanted was right there, right in the open. The blue light of the screen changed, washed his skin with purple shadows as he brought up the Luthorcorp site. Lex snorted. Purple. Be a bit more subtle, Dad.

The Luthorcorp site, chockfull of pictures of Lionel Luthor, philanthropist. Here were pictures of Lionel in war-torn or disaster struck areas around the world, looking appropriately heroic and visibly moved by the suffering, heading a coalition of concerned businessmen worldwide who joined to bring relief and assistance to the people of these stricken nations, or so the copy read. Lex snorted again. Yeah, completely out of the kindness of his heart and the mountains of favorable publicity it brought.

There was a picture of his dad standing in a muddy field in his shirtsleeves, patting some anonymous little kid on the head. There was a picture of his dad holding some photogenic little girl in some Slavic nation, looked like. Lex scrolled down and saw that his father's help in these different places included arranging adoptions and in some cases re-uniting families that had been separated because of war…and he'd been doing that since the early eighties, starting in Asia….

That was…interesting.

The agencies his father worked with had little information about them available online…lots of fluff pieces about how great Luthorcorp was but not much else—some of the agencies didn't exist anymore. There was a tangle of dead ends that Lex was sifting through to get to facts. Lex shifted in his chair and winced at the too loud squeak of wheels on the bare floor. Damn.

He froze, relaxed when Clark didn't come to check on him. He concentrated on the screen again, and moved through the site. His dad had ties to a number of resorts—he owned quite a few. Resorts, hotels, a lot of entertainment venues. Interesting. No resorts in the US, though. Lex was starting to get a little drowsy. He sat with one hand holding up his head and tried to keep from nodding off. He hummed low and tuneless under his breath. He'd had no idea how truly boring his father was….

He flicked back idly to the site with ‘hero dad' pictures, dad patting the kid on the head, being nicer to some random…urchin than he was to his own kid…being nice….shit. 

Lex jerked back, wide awake now, nerves vibrating. Oh hell no. He couldn't. He wouldn't….not even his dad could do something like that—could he?

~o0o~

That weekend found Lex in Metropolis. He'd managed to slip away from the farm with the barely acceptable excuse of checking out campus. It'd been hard to keep Clark from coming with him. He'd just have to add that to the ton of lies he'd told Clark since he started this thing, but in the end it'd be worth it, it would mean everything to the two of them, Clark would see that, he was sure. 


	11. Chapter 11

Lex drove around the city for a while until it was time to make the meeting he'd arranged. He grimaced in distaste. He hoped he wouldn't ever have to do this again either. 

He parked in a lot near the restaurant at which the meeting was taking place, and walked the short distance. His eyes roamed over the buildings and the street. From previous trips into the city with his dad it was all familiar to him, and, at same time, exciting and brand new since he was here by himself for the first time. He enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his shoulders, and how bright and brilliant everything looked—when he and Clark lived here, they were going to go in every store and eat in every restaurant, and everyone was going to wonder at how lucky he was to be with such a beautiful man.

Lex approached a sidewalk café separated from foot traffic by a low iron railing. The railing surrounded a collection of linen draped tables and wire chairs. George sat there, the person he'd arranged to meet. He was slouched carelessly in his chair, his legs crossed in front of him and one arm thrown across the back of another chair. A cigarette smoldered in his hand, his fingers wrapped around the gold tipped end. His shirt blazed white in the sunlight, its whiteness accented by the dark brown jacket he wore. His other hand touched a glass of something gold and sparkling in front of him. When he caught sight of Lex, he tipped the glass to him, sneered faintly. 

Before that moment, if anyone had asked Lex to describe George he would have said he had slanted green eyes, a beaky nose, a too wide mouth, and a pointed fox face. Looking at George, now, glowing amber and gold in the sunlight, fat black curls framing his face, the green of his almond eyes accented by black lashes so thick his eyes looked like they'd been lined with kohl—taking in the arch of his cheekbones, his full rose mouth and the delicate wing of his nostrils, all set in an elfin mask—Lex knew what he suspected must be true. George must have been ethereally beautiful fifteen years…rather, eighteen years ago.

George laughed and the spell broke and it was just that fucking bastard George again—thank god.

"So- you've come to torture your father again, have you, you ungrateful brat?" George straightened a bit and dropped the cigarette into the ashtray." Make it quick. I get vacation twice a year, and you're using up my precious minutes."

"You're still at the penthouse aren't you?"

"Yes, but I'm not a butler this week," he smirked in a sly and unpleasant way. "Speak up. What is this thing that could 'change my life', as you so dramatically put it?"

Lex dropped his file on the table in front of George and waited as he scanned through the papers briefly. He tossed them to the table. "Yes?" Was all he said and sipped at the glass he held.

"Well—do you know anything about that?" Lex asked impatiently.

"What—the fact your father is a generous man when he chooses?" George shrugged. "What has this to do with me?"

"I need to know that you'll speak up if I need you to. I won't involve you otherwise, not unless I have to—not without your say-so." Lex was nervous. Everything he planned depended on George's cooperation. "You have my word as a Lu—you have my word on it."

George looked over his glass at him and smiled. "I believe you, little one. But I don't feel especially moved to help you. Why should I? My position with your father has its benefits. I'm only here because I thought you'd be amusing, and you haven't disappointed me."

Lex held tight to his temper and tried to sound calm. "Someday, I'll have money. Quite a lot actually. Enough to make sure you won't have to worry about what will happen to you when he finally gets tired of you." Lex looked George up and down and forced a look of amused disdain. 

George snapped forward. "I make sure he doesn't, the bastard." George growled and slammed the glass to the tabletop, shaking the wire table. He threw himself back in the chair and glared at Lex "He knows I can't leave him. I hate him. He knows I don't have a life without him." His lips curled away from his teeth in a smile that was more a snarl, his eyes flashed and Lex shivered a little and thought, that's what's inside of us—me. And Whit….

George's eyes were focused a million miles away. "I hate you for coming between us. I hate you more than you can imagine, but I'm not a fool. This thing you want— if you need it, I'll help you." He looked across the table and Lex froze at the naked hatred visible in his jade green eyes "I always liked when he beat you—it made me smile. And after…."

Lex stood so quickly the chair skittered back and hit the railing behind him. "Jesus! Shut up! I don't want to know anything else! Just—just what I need to know." 

George gave him a twisted smile. "I'll tell you what you want to know. Your father bought—buys—people. Children. These resorts," He pointed at the papers scattered across the table, "they 'employ' young people to work as waiters, maids, cooks—they go with the room. You rent a suite – you get your choice. Or, perhaps you are seeking to adopt a child, that's another way. It looks like adoption, at any rate—your father's people are very good, plus, no one wants these children, the ones with tainted blood." He smiled and smoothed his jacket into place. "When I was a boy, no one wanted me, but your father came, and it turned out I had some worth after all." He shrugged. "Your father—he was so handsome and seemed so kind. So generous with his money—" George laughed. "I thought he was an angel."

Lex's mouth went dry. "He—he bought you?"

George raised an eyebrow, "Well, yes—that's the point, isn't it? Isn't that what you wanted proof of?"

Lex nodded, sick—he'd been hoping foolishly that he was wrong—that he was mistaken.

"So now you can hoard away this information and if your father tries to hurt you, you have the means to hurt him back—and you can do it to each other forever, a tidy little circle of revenge and hatred. I like it." George rose. "But think on this. If you do nothing with this information but hold it against your father, what of the lives involved? What of you and your father's lives? Your little plan, it's a good one, a very Luthor plan. Your father will be proud of you, and I wonder…can you live with that? Excuse me now, I have an appointment across the street in that lovely hotel, a lively little someone waits for me to fuck them. Enjoy the sights, dearest, Metropolis is a lovely city. Let's not do this again for a very, very long time, yes?"  
George dropped a handful of bills on the table and walked away.

 

Lex watched him go, feeling weak and dizzy. He was doing the right thing, he knew it. There wasn't anything he could do about strangers half a world away—not now, not yet. Some day he would, when he was established, when he and Clark had a place in the world. He promised himself he would because he wasn't like his dad…he shivered and felt a cold curl of ice worm its way into his gut, into his spine. He could never be like that. Never. He thought of Jonathan's smiling face, his warm blue eyes. Lex heard Jonathan say, "Don't be silly Red. Never happen." 

Lex nodded. Fucking well right it would never happen. He had something Lionel never had—someone to love more than life itself. There was nothing in the world, nothing in heaven or hell more important to him than Clark's happiness. He smoothed the tablecloth flat and breathed out slowly, calmly. Nothing in the world.

~o0o~

Sam walked around the apartment trying to think clearly. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, he was walking through a dream…nothing felt real.

He looked at the open suitcase on the couch, and marveled how little space was required to pack away his life here. Boxes had been sent home a week ago, and he was damn grateful Abbie and Bill had agreed to him staying temporarily with them. Big capital T on the temporary, he smiled to himself. He hoped they weren't going to have a major fit when he told them about his plans.

Then again, they might like having a son who owned a print shop slash gallery…or sandwich shop slash gallery—maybe a titty-bar slash gallery, he thought and made himself laugh out loud, picturing the looks of horror— _a what bar? In Smallville?_

He tossed a framed picture of the folks in his bag and glanced around again. That pretty much covered it. Everything that had belonged to him in this place fit into a couple of cardboard boxes and two suitcases. He slipped a pair of shoes in a canvas bag and tucked them down inside the suitcase. He picked up a small box full of pictures from the coffee table and tossed it into the case too. Before he zipped up the bag, he opened the box and sighed. The first picture on top was a picture of Whit, one that had been taken last summer. He was looking into the camera, a little defensive, a little lost and sad. Shit, he used to look like that all the time…until he made friends with that marine. _Friends._

A hot flash of fury swept Sam, followed by feeling like a complete jerk. Why be mad because the kid found someone who brought him some happiness? Was Whit supposed to go on feeling like shit because Sam felt like shit? 

Mike came up behind him and pulled the snapshot out of his hand, glanced at it and tossed it back in the box.

"Hey!" Sam protested and Mike squeezed his shoulder before moving to the suitcase.

"Look, I'm thinking you're going home with this idea of him—" he jerked his head at the box of pictures, "—like he used to be, and that things are going to be just rosy from here on out. Man, that kid who hero-worshipped you and thought you walked on water doesn't exist anymore. From where I'm standing the boy don't hardly even like your ass no more. Can't say I blame him, either."

Sam looked at his brother and frowned. "Tell me again why I asked you to help me instead of Matt?"

"Because Matt would call you a steaming pile of Kansas cowpats and leave your sorry ass right here. Plus, he wouldn't be luggin'no thousand pound suitcases down the stairs."

"Elevator? Have you ever heard of them?" 

"Doesn't sound as dramatic" Mike grinned briefly before continuing. "Really, Sam, you can't step in and screw Whit's life up again—I think he's finally at a point where there's a chance he's going to be…okay. You know? Don't think he's some kind of magic—something, charm—that's going to make your life better when he's _just_ beginning to get his own shit together."

Mike just didn't get it. Sam snapped, "Look, I'm not coming home for that, okay? I know I screwed up once already—okay, a lot of times, shut up motherfucker—but I'm coming back to make things better—for _me._ Unless I'm happy with myself I can't make anyone else happy, now can I?" 

 

Mike shrugged and sat on the arm of the couch. "Go 'head Oprah—I think you're getting smarter in your old age." Mike refused to be moved by the hurt and confusion swimming in Sam's eyes. He was not going to get trapped into shouldering Sam's troubles for him. Again.

All their young lives, Mike had looked out for Sam, tried to smooth the way for him. He felt like he'd spent his teen years apologizing and explaining Sam's behavior to their parents and siblings, he'd worked hard to make sure Pete only saw cool guy Sam, smooth and in control, and not fucked up barely able to put two and two together Sam…and it was past time for him to get his shit together—hell, if an eighteen-year-old kid could recognize he needed help, so could Sam, right?

 

"Man, fuck you man—have I told you how much I hate you?" Sam sighed and dropped his eyes. "Mike, I get what you're saying. When I decided I had to stop trying to make everyone else happy, I took a good hard look at myself and it was pretty damn ugly. I know where I fucked up; I know what I did to Whit."

"Bruh, that's not even the main point. I hear you say you're not living your life for others now—cool, but I hope you're done _using_ us too." Mike couldn't help the flare of anger he felt. As much as he loved his little brother—and he'd never admit out loud he loved him more than anyone else in the world—he was angry at him too, at his selfishness, at his constant search for love that dragged everyone with him into hell. He prayed that Sam was right, that he knew now what he wanted and how to get it. He hoped Whit was it for him, he really did. He wanted to see both of these guys happy, at long last. But he wasn't willing to sacrifice Whit so that Sam could feel good about himself. 

"I know it was entirely selfish." Sam want on, not noticing how deep in thought Mike was. "But you have no idea what it feels like to have someone worship you like that. I know, I know—it sounds awful, but I loved it, I got off on it. He acted like he thought the sun rose and set on my ass. I liked having him think that. I fed into it, you know? All knowing, all powerful big brother…and then it got so that wasn't enough, I wanted more from him…because I'm a selfish asshole."

Mike looked at him in surprise. "Well. Aren't we really being fucking Oprah today? Looks like we did trip over some truth somewhere in our strange journey. I'm telling you, just take your time. Learn patience, and you might see a whole new world is out there for you. Just don't push it. And don't be so hard on yourself as far as Whit's concerned. I don't think he knew that about you." 

 

Sam grimaced. "So do you want to just stand there and make me feel like shit or are you going to help with the rest of this stuff? Wait, I know what would be fun—let's hang out here ‘til Sheryl gets back and then the both of you can have fun feasting on my balls."

Mike laughed, closed and zipped the suitcase. He grabbed the case and Sam grabbed the other and they walked out of the apartment.

Sam locked the door and pocketed the key. "I hope I never have to come back here ever again." He spoke with bitterness, and Mike cut his eyes toward him.

"It's not entirely her fault. You knew when you married her—"

"Oh, my god! Can you get the fuck off my case for one second?" Sam growled and punched the elevator button so hard he was afraid for a moment his finger would go right through the plastic. 

The temper tantrum made him grin but Mike figured it was a long ride back to Smallville and as funny as Sam was when he was irritated, it might not be so funny a couple of hours down the road. 

"Well, the split didn't end up as bad as I thought it was going to—good for you, hunh? I thought she was going to take your ass to the cleaners, her and Mommy and Daddy Lawyer. How'd you get her to step off anyway?"

Sam looked at him and sighed, "A lot of crying, a whole lot of crying like a bitch."

Mike grimaced and laughed a little. "So—she got—" Mike jerked his thumb at Sam's crotch and he grinned and bent a little with a pained grimace.

"Yeah, boy…they're in a box in her room."

Mike laughed, "Whatever it takes, by any means necessary." They walked out into the lobby of the building, walked across squares of light cast on the gleaming tiles from the big lobby windows. With every step toward the doors Sam's heart grew lighter, his step a little bouncier, until he stopped and dropped his suitcase. Heads jerked around and people stared at him.

Sam raised a fist and in a dramatic tone said, "Tell our enemy that she may take away my testicles, but she'll never take... MY FREEDOM!"

Mike stopped and looked at Sam in admiration and in an awed voice said, "Damn. That is the worst motherfucking "Braveheart" imitation I've ever heard. Now if you're done being insane up in here—"

Sam bowed and swept his hand out before him. "You first, oh brother mine."

"Thank you kindly—raving asshole." Eyes followed them out the doors—Sam felt it was one of the best exits he'd ever made.

They were still chuckling together as they loaded the car, and pulled out on the journey back to Smallville.

~o0o~

Pete shivered. It was always a little too cool in the morning. They were in the middle of damn October, and Mom just had to turn the heat down at night and God help anyone who turned it up. Pete thought it was damn unfair everybody had to suffer because Mom was having those hot flash things. Not that he'd complain out loud for anything in the world but damn, women were strange, complicated creatures. He knew from firsthand experience how true this was. Hell, if he could figure out what was on Lana's mind from one minute to the next, he'd be one happy man. It was true what Bill always said, best to just go along and fake like you know what's happening. 

Life was so …weird.

And now, life was even more fun than ever— Sam was back home and the house was crowded as hell, what with Happy Sam and Pissed Off Sam and Depressed Sam, and Happy Whit and Moody Whit and Don't Talk To Me Fuck You Whit all living together under the same roof. 

Damn. He was about to unleash Ya'll Go To Hell Pete on them. All he knew was, they better find a way to live with each other soon or _he_ was moving out. 

He crossed the hallway and tapped on Whit's bedroom door. "You up?" he called softly. "It's seven."

Whit grunted and Pete heard thump-thump as Whit's feet hit the ground, and then he was leaning out of his open bedroom door, scratching and yawning at Pete. 

Pete grimaced and stepped back, leaning away from Whit. "Shit," he winced, "what do you do at night, boy? Eat road kill?"

"Do you ever get tired of making fun of me in the morning?" 

"Naw—it never gets old," Pete grinned happily at him.

At that moment Sam came out of his room bleary-eyed and wild-haired and headed straight into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Whit looked openmouthed at Pete. "Did you _see_ that? He stole the bathroom. He _knows_ we've got to get ready for school!" Whit practically sputtered in outrage.

Pete rolled his eyes and walked away. _Unh-unh. No. Not enough money in the world!_

~o0o~

Sam waited for the water in the shower to get hot and leaned against the sink as he brushed his teeth in a fury. He was trying very hard not to let Whit's attitude get to him. Even though Whit had been nothing but polite and friendly. So very, very polite. 

So. Mother. Fucking. Polite—

Sam jabbed himself painfully in the gum with the toothbrush, flung it furiously into the sink and hung over it for a second, his eyes watering from the pain.

He spit and rinsed and jerked his shorts off, flung them to the floor as he climbed into the shower. He caught a glimpse of his face before stepping in and had to laugh, he looked like he was twelve years old. He shook his head. _Get a grip, Samuel, get a grip._

~o0o~

Whit straightened up his room while he waited for Sam to come out, because it never hurt to build up Abbie Points. He shoved the end of the blanket between the box spring and the mattress—Abbie believed in hospital corners.

Damn it—Sam was taking his own sweet time coming out of the shower. Whit huffed to himself and punched the pillows viciously, yanked the bed covers up so hard he untucked them again. _Damn!_ He flung the pillows down on the bed and swung to face the door. He was going to pull Sam out of there by his—his—hair.

A knock on the door and a soft voice telling him the bathroom was free now deflated his temper tantrum. 

Sam was like a too-bright light sitting in the middle of his head and blinding him. Whit was sure that he'd gotten over Sam, didn't think about him much at all and when he did the emotion that always used to overwhelm him was thankfully muted—then again, he'd spent the whole summer with a terrific guy, a wonderful guy.  
Just not a guy he was in love with. 

Whit managed to slip into the bathroom without running into Sam. The bathroom was warm from steam and smelled like Sam, in a way. He avoided the boxers crumbled on the floor, stepped into the shower and tried hard not to think about Sam in there, washing himself, rubbing soap over his chest, foam sliding down his belly, getting caught in the hair around his dick, the curls would be wet and softened by the water and dragging his fingers through them would feel so good, soft under his fingertips, Sam's head would tilt back against the wall, and he'd lick the water running down his chin, chase it down his neck—

Whit's hand slid along his erection, pumping slowly, squeezing, twisting up the length and sliding over the tip—he'd jack Sam slowly just like this with his soapy hand, he'd suck the warm water off his nipples until he was moaning, begging Whit to finish him, to fuck him hard, he'd make Sam scream his name "Ah, fuck! Fuck... "

Whit stood under the rushing water, panting, head down and his hands braced against the wall, watching come swirl around the drain as he rode out the aftershocks of a surprisingly intense orgasm. The water cooled and he closed his eyes and shivered.

~o0o~

Pete, Clark and Lex were in the kitchen by the time Whit came downstairs, hair still a little damp from the shower and a big sweater that used to belong to Charlie enveloping him. The guys looked up and grinned when he came in the door. Lex looked him over quickly and frowned a little and Whit thought he was going to say something, but he just sighed.

Fuck Lex, Whit thought. He knew he was in for a lecture from him about 'knowing what you wanted and being honest with yourself' and blah-fucking-blah. But he needed to wear the sweater now, it held a little of Charlie's scent and kind of grounded him. Sort of. Plus it was really warm and the house was a fridge.

He got a glass from the counter and filled it with milk, and let the soft murmur of his friends talking wash over him. His damp hair made him feel just a little cool, but the sun was just starting to shine through the window over the sink and it warmed him a bit. He leaned against the counter and tilted his head back as he gulped down the milk. He burped pretty impressively, he thought and looked over at the table with a grin, to find Sam standing in the doorway staring at him. 

The look on his face—Whit blushed and slammed the glass down on the counter.

 

"Hey Sam," Clark called out, "Come to join us for Not-Breakfast?" he indicated the table, bare of food.

Sam raised his eyebrows in question. "Um. Breakfast? Seems pretty much non-existent."

"Hence Not-Breakfast!" Clark laughed.

Lex didn't seem as amused as Clark. "Your brother invited us over for breakfast, but neglected to tell us we were supposed to _bring_ it with us." Lex frowned at Pete.

Pete was totally unrepentant. "It was implied that you bring it with you. Besides, what makes you think my mom doesn't have anything better to do then feed your greedy asses?"

"Damn," Whit muttered. "We're not getting breakfast? Shit. I made my bed, too…"

Sam laughed, "How about I take you guys to breakfast? You've got a little time before school, don't you?"

Whit quickly spoke up. "Yeah, thanks, I can't go, I've got some stuff to do at the gym." 

Sam gripped his arm lightly as Whit went past. "Hey," he said, "I can take you if you want." He sounded so hopeful that for a second Whit softened, and then a wave of ice swept him.

"No, thanks—I'm just going to take the bus today. Thank you though, that was really nice of you to offer."

Sam watched him leave. "Yeah, no problem." 

The boys looked at each other. Sam's disappointment was almost a physical presence in the room..

Clark shook his head and Pete hissed and muttered, "Awkward." 

Lex said nothing, just watched Sam leave the room with a speculative look on his face. Clark caught him, and sighed inwardly. _Wonderful. He's planning something, God help those guys._

~o0o~

Sam drove into Smallville to meet with his realtor. She seemed positive she'd found office space on the main street that he'd like. He hoped so. 

He felt pretty proud of himself. This morning had been more of the same frustrating, depressing dance he'd been playing with Whit since he came home but he was sticking with his Plan.

He wasn't in a bar whining and feeling sorry for himself—he wasn't getting high out behind the shed like he was thirteen again—he wasn't driving out to Metropolis looking for trouble. In fact, he was doing pretty good and he had no trouble patting his own back, damn it. 

He vowed again that he wasn't going to flip on Whit or the family. No more stupidity, no more drama. He had his plan and he was sticking to it. He was going to show Whit he wasn't a complete asshole. He was going to do something he wanted to do with his life. He was ready, the time was right. He could feel it.

He parked in the public lot behind the building he had an appointment to see, and walked around to where his realtor was waiting for him. 

Sam had a real good feeling about this. It wasn't at all about getting into Whit's pants. He stopped, shocked at himself and torn between giggling like a girl and smacking himself. He glanced briefly skyward. _Lord, you know what I mean right? I hope so, someone needs to be on my side…_

~o0o~

"Well, Mr. Ross, I think you're going to like this one," the realtor said.

She unlocked the stained glass door, and flipped the lights on. His first impression was bright—and _big._ The room smelled of fresh paint and floor wax. He liked the open space, and the corner was perfect for his drafting table….

He walked around the office area, perfect for meeting with clients, then back out to the main room. This would be a great place for the business. Ross Designs…or something like it. He grinned to himself. It was nice that it was on the main drag, the office windows looked out on the street. With a little work he should be able to snag some the business currently going out to Metropolis. A graphic design studio could do pretty well in Smallville. He smiled to himself. Patience, hard work and little steps, right?

He turned and said, "Let me think about it," to the realtor, and she smiled.

~o0o~

Whit dragged himself from class to class. It really sucked being a good boy, he thought. And there were a hell of a lot of people who hadn't got the memo, they still bothered him and sometimes the temptation to just say yes was pretty strong.

It had been easy to be a good boy during the summer, what with Charlie being there—he'd been busy all the time and he didn't run into the people who were troublesome but now, with Sam hanging around and driving him crazy, it was pretty hard.

It was hard too, to walk down the hall and meet the eyes of people who knew what he used to be, to look at someone and know 'she knows and he knows and she knows what I look like when I come—and I don't like any of them' or 'he knows what I did for…what I used to do'….  
there were too many people in town who would never believe he changed, because they'd only seen him at his worst. He leaned his head on his locker door, letting the cold metal soothe his hot skin. If he got far away, some place no one knew him, he could start fresh—he could make it. He sighed. Fuck. The Marines sounded better and better all the time.

The metal warmed under his head, he lifted his arm against the door and leaned his head on that. God. He needed to get up before someone came out and saw him leaning up against his locker like Cinderella waiting for her fuckin' prince. It was just…he felt so tired; his heart felt so heavy, like it was being crushed slowly against his ribs. His eyes burned and he hoped desperately he was coming down with something….

He sighed deeply, he wished Charlie was with him now—wished he was there to hold him and tell him he was worth something and to keep his mind off Sam. And immediately he felt like a bastard. That was so selfish and nothing that Charlie deserved. Whit felt even worse, if that was possible.

He opened the locker, tossed his books inside and yanked his jacket out. He shrugged into it, and slammed his hands deep into the pockets. He should just walk out and keep walking. Who would stop him? He didn't have anything, anyone…Sam was an asshole who didn't even try to—if Sam wanted him, if he cared at all, he would have acted like it. He'd have done something, or said something but no, he was just moody and evil and when he wasn't being that, he was just so fucking polite….

Whit sighed and walked away from the bank of lockers and down the hall, scowling ferociously. People parted around him and he walked like he was alone. He walked until he came to the front door, walked through and out into the street. 

_screech—_  
The sound of tires grabbing the street and sliding to a stop broke him out of his fog. Someone was cursing at him and for a moment he couldn't make sense of it—then he grinned, "Bring it, asshole." All he needed was an excuse….

"Whitney! Get your fucking ass in the car now, damn it!" 

Whit froze, he heard Wade calling him again—he could feel Wade's hand twisting on his arm, shoving him in the car. _God damn it get your fucking stupid ass in the car!_ He heard the words hissed into his ear, memories flooded him and pinned him in place.

"Whitney."

A soft voice brought him back to reality. "Whitney, get in the car. Please?" And Wade evaporated like smoke.

"Sam…I…okay." He drew a shaky hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

Whit didn't want to look at the faces turned his way, he felt his own face burning as he climbed into the SUV. Behind them horns were honking, but Sam paid them no mind until Whit was in and buckled. Sam raised his eyebrows and smiled a little.

"Wow, I don't have to argue with you about buckling up?"

"Habit," Whit mumbled and sank down a bit. He could see Sam shake his head out of the corner of his eyes.

"Whit, what the hell were you doing in the middle of the road? You do know you walked right out in front of me? I thought you saw me at first…what's up?"

"Nothing."

"Whit—" Sam started, and then took a breath, started again. "Whitney. Do you want to get lunch?"

Whit's automatic response was to say no, but the second his stomach heard that food was a possibility, it growled so loud that Sam grinned. "I'm gonna take that as a yes—no arguments."

Whit surprised himself by agreeing. "Okay—lunch sounds good. As long as it's your treat—"

"You know, you gotta be one rich motherfucker, since you don't ever spend a dime of your own money," Sam said and then winced, afraid he may have over stepped the bounds of their fragile truce, but Whit grinned back.

"Fuck yeah, that's my game plan."

"It's good we all got a plan, then."

"Oh? You've got one too?"

"Negro, I got capital P plans," he grinned at Whitney and Whit looked at him, looked at Sam's smiling face—clear, happy and looking a lot like Sam the high school senior, the coolest big brother ever. In fact, Sam was looking damn good—Whit relaxed and muscles he didn't even know were tight nearly creaked with relief. 

"You can buy me lunch and tell me all about your plans," Whit said.

"Damn, thank you for the privilege." Sam smirked and Whit just grinned back.

"Yeah…it is," he grinned.

~o0o~

Three hours later, they were still hunched over a Formica topped table, surrounded by remnants of lunch and lists and drawings scribbled on napkins. Whit was fascinated by the way Sam was transformed, face alive in a way Whit hadn't seen in a long time.

"What do you think, Whit?" He was asking and Whit focused on Sam's words again instead of his mouth.

"Brilliant Sam."

Sam beamed and took a quick gulp of coffee. He cradled the mug in his slim fingers and looked thoughtful. "I mean it'll take a while to get started, and I'm sure I'll be drawing a whole lot of damn cows at first, but I've got clients that want to work with me and Metropolis is close enough—what?"

"Nothing. It's just great to see you look so happy, it's been a while…" Whit wished he could take the words back as he watched the play of emotions on Sam's face. Finally Sam raised his eyes and smiled.

"Well, wait until I start trying to launch this thing. Then we'll talk about how happy and relaxed I look," he said but the smile didn't leave his face and Whit's hands twitched, he wanted to touch Sam so bad. But today was one day—one day against what felt like forever. Whit leaned against the booth back and watched Sam drink his coffee. Well—every day was the start of a new day right? 

Whit lifted his cup to his lips with one hand, the other slid under the table and he crossed his fingers.

~o0o~

The day was just that kind that started off beautiful—crystal clear air and had just the slightest hint of fall coolness sneaking in around the edges. By the time the sun was fully up, it'd be gone, it'd be hot and humid again—unusual for this late in October, but not unwelcome. Dew still lay on the grass as they made their way to the fence that ran along the road. Not much traffic at this time of day, the occasional truck rolled by. Clark waved if he knew the driver, and sometimes even if he didn't. Lex marched along, staring straight ahead with a frown. Lex wasn't at his best early in the morning. 

Dew was beginning to burn off the field and the sun was brighter when Clark stopped and dropped the pack off his shoulder.

Clark took a thermos out of his pack and cracked the seal. "Coffee?" He asked. Lex nodded and asked if Martha had sent any muffins and Clark nodded with a grin. Lex didn't eat much and getting him to eat in the morning had always been a pain—until Martha discovered his weakness for her chocolate chip muffins. 

They leaned up against the fence and drank coffee and munched on the muffins, the only sounds disturbing the quiet were birds calling to each other in the fields and the occasional rumble of a truck in the distance.

Lex indicated the tools Clark carried. "So, what are we doing again?"

"Just stapling the netting back on the fence. Checking out the posts and basically, just going for a walk. Why, don't you like spending time with me?" 

"Clark, we didn't really have to get up at the crack of dawn for together time, did we? I mean after the cows we really could have gone back to bed."

Clark grinned. "You sleep too much anyway."

"Excuse me, eight hours is the recommended amount of sleep. Of course, who knows what amount of sleep large deranged aliens require."

Clark stopped Lex and pushed him against the fence. "You're so cute when you're annoyed, you know that?"

Lex pushed him back. "Stop trying to make me smile."

They worked along the fence line and soon they were sweating –the sun was burning down and Clark stopped to watch Lex. 

Lex leaned a hip against a fence post and wiped his head. He tucked the leather gloves into his back pocket and drank a long swallow of water from the insulated bottle he pulled out of the backpack.

Clark enjoyed looking at Lex like this. It never got old for him to watch Lex working on the farm. He had to grin every time he saw him lugging a bucket of chicken feed, or mucking out the milking shed with a look of determined suffering to rival a martyred saint's. It was just…too cute. Unless Clark got _caught_ grinning at him. Then it was a little less cute. Clark marveled at Lex's ability to thoroughly cuss a person out and make them want to beg him for forgiveness without even saying one word. 

Lex took his shirt off and tied the sleeves around his waist and put the gloves back on. "Hey," he called "Are you going to stand there with a goofy grin on your face or do you plan on helping?"

Clark's mouth went dry as he stared at Lex. This never got old either. He loved Lex's body, loved the shape of his shoulders, loved the way his collarbones looked like wings, how his navel reminded him that the faint line that ran from it and disappeared under his waistband led to heaven, loved how his skin tried so hard to brown, loved the march of freckles across his shoulders and down his back, loved that tiny spray across the bridge of his nose—the spray that drove Lex crazy. 

"You know, if you keep staring at me like that, we're never going to get anything done." Lex leaned back a little, working a kink out of his back and Clark couldn't stand still anymore. In a second his hands were wrapped around Lex's head and he was kissing him, tasting coffee and chocolate…

Lex was startled but Clark could feel his lips move into a smile under his, and his arms went around Clark's shoulders. 

Lex pushed against him after a moment. "Hey. We really do need to concentrate." 

Clark hugged him. "I am concentrating. I'm concentrating on getting you out of your pants." 

Lex laughed. "No! Not now—I want to finish, get back and eat breakfast."

Clark reluctantly let Lex go. "You're turning me down for pancakes? You're going to get fat if you keep eating like you've been." The minute he said it he knew it was stupid, the look of horror on Lex's face confirmed it. "No! No! Don't pay attention to me—I'm an idiot! I swear you look great—Say! Have you been working out?"

Lex looked confused and annoyed and finally Clark's little joke sunk in—Clark grinned as the frown on Lex's face melted into a slightly softer expression. He knew he'd have to work to make up for that moment of idiocy; Lex wasn't the type of person to think it was just a joke. Clark sighed. Sometimes he felt like he was on a high wire, wearing a blindfold.

Lex was studying his face, finally smiled a real smile. Clark felt a little lift, thank goodness for being forgiven! "Asshole," Lex said as he smiled and walked away. "We're done now, right?" he called over his shoulder. 

"Yep!" Clark called back. He'd explain to Dad later why they hadn't actually finished, and in the meantime, he was just going to enjoy that walk. How did Lex make a simple walk look like sex? Clark reached down to adjust himself, grinned ruefully. What that guy did to him was a sin….

They walked along the shoulder of the road and talked about the changes the end of the school year would bring. Summer was going to fly by and then they'd be facing college. Lex was all for making elaborate lists of things they'd need and start to buy them now, and of course the truck needed a tune up and they needed moving blankets… "Clark, did you hear me?" 

But Clark didn't answer and Lex looked up and saw what made Clark go still and silent. 

Lex's father's Mercedes rolled alongside them briefly before stopping at the side of the road. The tinted windows kept Lex from seeing inside the car, but not Clark. Just the thought that Lionel has been right next to them. Lex shivered as if the heat had fled and put his shirt back on, buttoning it and Clark stopped him from rolling down the sleeves and buttoning them too. 

"The sleeves are too long for you, why don't you just keep them rolled up?"

Lex rubbed the material quickly over his face, Clark's old flannel had been washed so many times it was soft as velvet and thin…

Clark rubbed his back. 

"What's wrong—is it him? I thought you were in charge of that situation." 

Lex nodded. He wasn't afraid of Lionel, precisely—he'd fixed that whole situation. Clark had no idea how little they both had to fear from him. It was just that sometimes…sometimes an irrational fear or worry seized him. Lex was afraid his dad would find some way to worm his way back into his life, destroy what happiness he'd managed to build. Lex took a deep breath, tried to prepare himself to face what was coming and started to walk to the car.

Clark reached out for him. "No, Lex, you don't need to talk to him, you don't owe him anything—"

"Clark, I'll be fine, I swear. Please just wait here."

"Lex…"

Clark looked so unhappy that Lex almost wanted _not_ to talk to the man, just to make Clark happy. But…"Clark, it's my father." He felt the tiniest twinge of guilt. That meant nothing to him, but he knew Clark would misinterpret, think he felt some sort of connection with the bastard.

And of course, Clark stepped back, and nodded. "All right. But I'm right here," he said fiercely. "Right here".

"I know." Lex stroked his arm and smiled, before walking to the car. The window rolled down as he came closer, and he tried not to roll down his sleeves, to button his shirt collar. He looked into the dim of the limo interior. There he was. 

"Dad."

"Lex."

"What is it? Aren't we finished?"

"Don't think I've forgotten you. Don't think that you're free…"

"Oh but I do think that. And you know why. Because if you bother me, or try to interfere in anyway in my life, the little details of _your_ life get spread far and wide, and I will enjoy every minute of it." Lex held his breath for a moment and went on, praying that his voice and eyes revealed nothing. "I don't need anything from you. I'm going to be my own man, live my own life, without you." He smiled wide.

Lionel smiled back. "Oh? You think so? Ask yourself this, Lex…would Clark, would Jonathan have done what you did? Well played, by the way. I would have done exactly that. Enjoy your…freedom."

Lex stopped for a moment, his heart beat harder, and beads of sweat ran down his ribs. Lionel was right—they never would have done it his way. The Luthor way. He leaned closer, and whispered, so quietly his dad leaned forward to hear him. "You're right. They never would have done this—never resorted to blackmail. That is a Luthor thing to do. And you know what we're capable of. Don't push me."

Lionel looked at Lex, and read the utter confidence—the utter ruthlessness in his gaze. He nodded, tight lipped, and rolled up the window. The car pulled slowly away, and down the road. Lex turned back to Clark without a backward glance.

The walk back was quiet, each of the boys trapped in their own thoughts.

~o0o~

The mood in the kitchen was noticeably down; even Jonathan could feel that something was wrong. He mouthed, _fight?_ at Martha. She shrugged with her eyebrows and Jonathan pressed his lips together. _Hmm. Something's up_. Martha half smiled. _I have no idea what but yes._

Clark sighed aloud. "I wish you wouldn't talk about us right in front of us."

"What?" Jonathan said. "I didn't say anything."

"Me neither," Martha said. "Milk? Coffee?" 

Lex asked to be excused and left the room. 

"What's going on with Red, Clark?" 

Clark frowned as he looked towards the stair. "His dad." 

Jonathan stood immediately. "Did his father bother him"—he started for the kitchen door but Clark stopped him. 

"No, not really, he passed us on the road, talked to Lex for a second…I think it just …brought up memories." 

Martha flushed and her eyes snapped. "Yes—I can imagine it did." She looked as fierce as a mother lioness for a moment, and Jonathan had to smile, Martha really was something when her protective mode kicked in. He thought for a moment and said, "I think I should talk to Red…maybe I should ask him to give me a hand with the truck."

"Ah, Dad, maybe something else?" Clark grinned. 

"Well, you could hold the truck for us…"

"I think Lex would really like it if you guys talked privately. A little one-on-one time, I mean." Clark looked expectantly at his dad, and Jonathan nodded. 

"That sounds like something we both could use, son. Good idea." Jonathan stood and headed for the stair and Clark got ready to head out to the Fortress. 

Martha coughed lightly before she sat at the table, bringing a cup of coffee and a crossword puzzle. "Fine," she smiled. "—but no one goes anywhere until the kitchen's cleaned. It's my day off, remember." She put her crossword on the table and waved a freshly sharpened pencil. "Try to be quiet while you're working, it's too distracting when I'm trying to do my puzzle." She grinned hugely, and Jonathan rolled his eyes at Clark.

"I'll take care of the kitchen—so, pizza tonight, hunh Dad?" Clark grinned at his dad, who just snorted and walked away. 

"I can cook, you know," he muttered and flushed a little when he heard Clark and Martha laugh.

~o0o~

"Red." He tapped at Lex's bedroom door. "Son, can I talk to you?" 

Lex opened the door and looked out, a little wary. Jonathan sighed inside. Sometimes the boy was as hard as a rock and sometimes he was like glass. Today was one of those glass days he figured. Red was strong, so strong that sometimes they forgot that he was still a kid. "Listen, how about we take the truck—your truck," he hastened to add at Lex's raised eyebrow, "and get some lunch. Just you and me?"

Lex looked pleased and Jonathan felt good—it was the right decision. Maybe he could get the kid to talk some. 

On the drive into town, they chatted idly about the farm, school, and local news, and because they were men it wasn't gossiping, Jonathan thought. No sir. Just a healthy interest in local affairs.

Lex chose the Beanery for lunch and Jonathan went along. He preferred the diner but it was his treat for Red so, his choice.

They talked around the subject on Jonathan's mind until the food came, and they each concentrated on their meals until Jonathan spoke up again. "Good sandwich, how's yours?"

"Pretty good. It's hard to mess up a roast beef and swiss though." Lex nibbled around the edges, and dissected his sandwich before eating it piece by piece. 

Jonathan nodded. "True, true." He worked his way through the french fries on his plate, watched Lex eat his sandwich, individual bit by bit and shook his head and smiled with a little shrug when Lex caught him looking. 

They'd nearly finished, sandwiches gone and they were both kind of half-heartedly picking at their fries. Jonathan figured now was as good a time as any to talk about this morning's incident. He took a big gulp of coffee and asked, "So, Red…you want to tell me what went on this morning?" 

He could see Lex's face shut down, his smile freezing. Jonathan reached over and laid his hand on his arm. "Listen—I just want you to know, I'm here if you need me—Martha and I both are always here for you. You're as important to us as Clark. If that man tries to bother you, or –or anything…you don't ever need to deal with him…."

Lex sat back and looked at Jonathan. "What if I _wanted_ to talk to him? I mean—would you guys mind?"

Jonathan was surprised. It had never occurred to him that Red would want to talk to that bastard. Not after everything he put him through. "Well, Red, that's your decision. I'd never stop you …he's your father after all. Though honestly I'd be just as happy if you didn't."

Lex nodded and said, "Thanks. I–I don't want to, not really. I just needed to know that it would be okay."

"Okay," Jonathan said, raising an eyebrow in puzzlement. 

Lex sighed. "Clark doesn't get it. He gets upset if I mention my father. He really hates him. He doesn't want me to talk to him at all. He wants me to act like he doesn't exist but that's—he does. He's there, whether I like it or not, my father's always there, on the edges of my mind, you know?"

Jonathan looked at the young man. He knew what bothered Clark—it wasn't Red talking to his dad that upset him, it was the games Lionel played with him. It was the jockeying for power between the two. It seemed that Red was holding his own, but Lionel had many, many more years' experience at playing the game than Red did…Jonathan had a pretty good idea that Red's trip to Metropolis had less to do with university and more to do with Lionel. He sighed and sipped at his lukewarm coffee, made a face. Red watched him with a kind of fond smile. It warmed him, and pulled an answering smile out of him, and he pushed his worry back down.

"Well, Red, you do what you know is right. As long as you remember who you are, and who your real family is, you'll do all right."

Lex blushed deeply. "Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. It means so much to me, much more than you know."

"Sure, sure." Jonathan coughed a little and grabbed the menu, looked at it hard and asked, "…dessert?" 

Lex grinned. "Uhm-hmm. I think I have some room."

~o0o~

Clark was about to head up to the loft when he caught sight of Pete's car coming up the drive. He was pleased—it had been quite a while since Pete had been out to visit. Clark felt a breath of guilt. It had been a while since any of them had gotten together-too involved in themselves he guessed. He scanned the car quickly…Pete was alone. 

Pete hopped out of the car and called out to Clark. "Hey! What's up Clark?" 

Clark grinned at him, "Not much. I'm on my own today; Lex and Dad went downtown." 

"Really?" Pete said as he trotted up to Clark's side and fell in step with him. "That's cool, I guess."

"Lex saw his dad this morning…"

"Oh, yuck. Got it. He's okay, though?" Pete's forehead wrinkled in concern, anything that had to do with Lex's dad was bad news as far as he was concerned. Clark knew Pete's feelings for Lionel were on par with his own. 

"Yeah. You know, sometimes it's hard to tell with him, but yeah, I think he is okay. So, you living the wild bachelor life today?"

"Ah-ha, jokes," Pete said as he stomped up the stairs behind Clark. Clark grabbed a couple of bottles of juice from the little fridge in the loft and tossed one to Pete. "I had to get out of the damn house," he said as he caught the juice and unscrewed the top. 

"Hmm?" Clark said 

Pete drank half the bottle at one go. "Whew!" He wiped his mouth before going on. "Yeah, I had to get out; Whit and Sam are driving everyone crazy. Damn." He sipped at the remainder. 

Clark rolled the bottle between his hands and raised his eyebrows, "I thought they were talking again."

"If by talking we mean sniping, snapping and picking non-stop on each other, then yes. Abbie and Bill are drawing straws to see who gets to kill which one. Me, I'm kind of leaning toward Whit…"

Clark nodded; he knew how Whit could get. He felt sorry for the Ross family.

"So… but that's good…kind of, right? I mean soon they'll be friends again…" _I hope,_ Clark thought, but he remembered how cold they'd been to each other lately and well, Whit could really be awful when he was in a mood. "It would be great for them to be friends again."

Pete looked at Clark as if he were completely insane. "Clark—they don't want to be friends. They want to be—you know." 

He gestured at Clark with his bottle and Clark said, with a wry look, "Me?"

"Hah. You know what I mean."

"Gay?" 

"A couple! Why I came _here_ to relax I don't know…"

"You know Pete, it's not that I'm not enjoying the refreshing game of 'What the Heck Am I Talking About', but why aren't you with Lana?"

Pete heaved an enormous and dramatic sigh. "Lana…you know, sometimes I envy you."

Clark sat back and raised his eyebrows. Pete leaned back on the couch too, and they put their feet up on the trunk that served as a table. 

"Yeah, you never have to deal with bloating and chocolate lust and ‘for god's sake don't touch me I'm hideous and breaking out' PMS blues."

"Ah. So, you're afraid to go see her."

"Scared shitless. Clark, you know I love that girl. I couldn't live without her. Except at certain times." He looked mournfully at Clark, and Clark had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He managed to recover, nodded seriously and said, "You know Pete, there comes a time in a friend's relationship where they have to be totally real with each other. I hope you understand when I tell you, sometimes it's okay—no—it's _important—_ not to share."

"Oh, come on Clark, like I don't have to listen to you go on and on about Lex."

"Whitney!" Clark pointed at Pete, a little irked.

"Well! Well…well hell, who else am I going to talk to about him? Who else would understand? I feel really bad for him sometimes. I mean as much as he gets on my nerves, you know…" 

Clark stood and collected the empty bottles. "Well, Whit's just an unusual kind of guy. Even if his childhood were some sort of Disney magic happy thing, he'd probably be the same way." He said, and Pete shook his head. 

"Yeah, maybe," he said doubtfully "But in the meantime, he's hurting and I can't do anything for him. I can't help." 

Clark reached out and mock-punched Pete's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry. Those guys will figure it out. I know they will, they're meant to be together, like me and Lex."

Pete moved over to the loft door and stared out across the field. "Do you really think people are meant to be together? That there's some kind of destiny—you'll meet the one you're meant to be with and you'll just kind of know it?"

"Well, yeah…it was kind of that way for me and Lex…even though we had to go through a whole lot of crap to get here." He leaned back against the frame with Pete and sighed. "I'm sure that we're meant to be together. I feel it in my bones but sometimes, I feel like there's a lot more coming our way, and it's not going to be pleasant, you know? Lex, he's so—precious—I mean, not like cute, I mean like—like a perfect diamond," he made a cupping movement with his hands and stared into them as if he could see Lex there. "But it's getting him to believe it, y'know?"

Pete nodded seriously, he'd never seen two people so meant to be together, he doubted anyone could pull them apart—they were just—ClarkandLex, practically one word. He grinned at Clark. Destiny had to be real. These guys were proof. It made Pete feel better, better about Sam and Whit, better about himself and Lana. 

Yeah, absolutely, some people were meant to be.


	12. Chapter 12

"Whit, you're going to help Clark and me help Sam paint and set up his new place—"Lex stopped as the waitress put a plate of fries between the two of them and dropped a coffee and a milkshake in front them. Lex eyed the french fries dubiously and Whit laughed and said, "Red, I swear this place is good. Charlie and I always ate here." He grabbed a few fries and shoved them into his mouth with a grin.

"Hmm," Lex said, and looked unconvinced. "Anyway—I want you to help, and Sam would really like it, too…" He trailed off at Whit's exasperated look.

"Hey, I'm talking to him," Whit grumbled. "I'm glad that he's getting his business underway—that's great—but let's not push it, okay? One lunch and a couple of rides to school don't mean that we're best buddies now." He leaned back in the booth and sucked noisily at his milkshake and tried to ignore Lex, who slapped his hand down on the table and leaned forward with a ferocious frown, poking his finger in Whit's chest.

 

"Listen you—enough, okay? You and I, we've had some rotten god-awful times and our lives have sometimes been the stuff of nightmares, but Whit—that was then and this is _now_ —Just fucking get _over_ it." 

Whit glared right back and muttered, "Great, The whole damn place is looking at us. I was hoping to come back to this diner again. And what the fuck do you mean just 'get over it'? Just get over a life of _hell?_ Great advice, Red—words to live by."

"Yes, damn it. What else are you going to do?" Lex leaned back in his seat and sighed. He poked at the fries and grimaced, shoved the plate away. He said, "When Charlie was around, you were doing great. You were happy and—you got through school, pulled your grades up and now what? You decide to sit in the corner and pout because Sam didn't come home and drop to his knees and beg you to please, please forgive him for being a huge-ass jerk? Was he supposed to flog himself in a public square for you? Oh, boo-hoo, poor little Whitney."

"No! That's not it at all, and don't be a jerk yourself! I can't believe you're talking to me like this—we always…we're friends, more than." Whit looked down at the table and Lex felt a little flash of guilt—squashed it down.

"Listen, who knows better than me what you're going through? What you're feeling? And I'd never hurt you—we share so much Whit, and I love you so much. I want you to be happy. All I've ever wanted for you is to be happy." He reached out and pulled Whitney's hand to his mouth, swiftly kissed the knuckles before Whit pulled his hand out of Lex's grasp.

"Sam will do everything he can to make you happy," Lex said. "He will. Give him a chance. He's doing so much for you, and it's time you begin to let him in."

Whit shook his head, "I don't know—what if he changes his mind again? I couldn't take it. I'd never survive another…"

"Just be honest with yourself, Whit. This is the one that can build a life with you. Of the two people you loved, this is the one that can make your life what it should always have been. This is the one who loves you for you, and not what you can do for him."

Whit looked away from Lex. "Wade tried…" He stopped abruptly and paled, and Lex nodded.

"It's okay. I figured..."

"I—I—in my mind that name was Charlie." Whit laughed a little weakly, and Lex smiled. 

"Let it go, Whit. Get started on the rest of your life. Trust me, babe, I'd never lie to you." 

Whit laughed. "Okay. Man, Clark never had a chance, did he?"

"Exactly. Do you see what I mean about being honest with yourself? As soon as Clark admitted he couldn't live without me, things just feel into place." Lex smiled warmly at Whit. 

Whit shook his head. "The boy _really_ never had a chance against you."

~o0o~

Sam unlocked the door while the boys stood behind him, loaded down with paint and rollers and drop cloths. Sam had a bag in his hand and held a Styrofoam cup in his teeth while he juggled the keys to unlock the door. 

"Thish ish the besht spashe,jush wai." He slurred around the cup and finally got the door unlocked. He grinned over his shoulder at them, and Lex looked very interested. Whit mimed yawning widely at Clark, who grinned back him. After they loaded everything in he room, Clark turned to Lex and whispered, "Hasn't this place just been painted? I mean, I can smell new paint"

"Sam's trying to present an image—he's going to put his own stamp on this place, with paint and accessories. He's going to—"

Clark put a hand over Lex's mouth. "You're scaring me—no more of those makeover-decorating show things okay? And especially not with that Ty guy. He gets on my nerves." Lex's eyes sparkled over Clark's hand and Clark could feel his lips move in a grin against his palm. 

Whitney shoved some buckets into the corner and opened a can of paint, punched holes around the rim with a hammer and a nail and swirled a stirrer through the paint. Sam leaned over his shoulder and watched for a minute until Whit looked up, slightly annoyed. "Am I doing it wrong?" he asked sarcastically. 

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm watching you. You look like you know more about it than I do."

Whit nodded, slightly mollified. "Yeah, well, you pick up things here and there." He didn't look up at Sam, just poured some paint into a bucket and grabbed a brush. "So, the green goes in the reception area?" 

"No, Sam corrected, "The 'prairie sage' goes in the reception area." He smiled to let Whit know he was kidding.

"Whatever." Whit muttered. Took his brush and began cutting in around the molding. 

Sam watched Whit's arms move, the muscles shift under his tight a-shirt. Sam turned away after a short while and felt damn proud of himself for turning his back on Whit. _I can do it_ he thought— _I can resist that damn boy all day long, if I have to. 'Cause I'm strong, damn it.'_ Sam rolled his eyes at himself. _Yeah._

~o0o~

Whit could feel Sam move away, and he swallowed. He'd been too aware of Sam standing behind him watching and it made him nervous and a little turned on. Which in turn made him angry. He was so easy. _Remember, he's a jerk, a big ass jerk. A big ass jerk with really green eyes, a much nicer green than prairie sage. And he really did have nice lips, so soft and—_ "Damn it!"

Whit slapped paint on the wall violently for a few minutes and Sam came up behind him again. 

"Hey, hey! You're splattering paint all over!"

"Well, that happens sometimes when you're painting. That's what the drop cloths are for." Whit glowered at the wall, and hoped Sam couldn't see him turning red.

"Yeah, okay…I'm just going to go over here." Sam pointed to the opposite side of the room and grabbed a roller. "I'll paint the wall while you do that."

"You should tape out the ceiling so you don't get paint on it, plus it'll give you a nice crisp line."

"All right. Where's the tape?" He looked at Whit and Whit frowned. 

"Where's the bag? All that stuff was in the bag." He watched Sam wander around, half-heartedly looking for the bag. 

Lex came in and asked if they'd like something to drink and Sam shook his head. "I'm looking for the bag with the tape in it." 

"Oh, that's in the studio." Lex said. "Clark's using the tape."

Sam sighed. "Well, the Anti-Sawyer here needs it too."

Lex quirked an eyebrow. "…The Anti-Sawyer?"

"Yeah, you know the opposite of Tom Sawyer?" Sam jerked his chin at Whit. "He makes doing this look really sucky. Or he just kind of sucks the fun right out of it," he muttered. 

Whit whirled around. "Oh, fucking excuse me for not being a shit load of _fun."_ He threw the brush down on the floor and stamped off. Lex and Sam stared down at their now paint covered feet, and the spray of prairie sage paint that fanned out across the gleaming floor tiles. 

"Mother fuck!" Sam yelled. "I've had a-fucking- _nuff_ of his attitude. 'Xcuse me, I'm gonna go make everybody happy and kill him now." He stomped off after Whitney.

Clark came up behind Lex and put an arm around his shoulders. "Does that mean we're all finished painting?"

Lex's brow wrinkled and he said, "Let's check on them, I really don't want to have to clean up blood today, too."

Clark looked a little worried. "All those guys do is fight, fight, fight. I don't know…I don't think your plan is working too well, Mr. Yental." 

Lex shook his head. "I think it is, and that's Mr. Yenta." 

"What?"

"Come with me, Clark, and just look pretty, okay?"

"You're very insulting, did you know that?" Clark said.

"You know, it worries me when you sound like Pete." Lex pushed Clark along down the short hallway that separated the studio area from the reception area towards the room Sam had staked out as his office.

Just as they got near the office, they heard shouting and cursing and a wall shaking thump. Lex looked wide-eyed at Clark. "Oh shit…."

~o0o~

Whit slammed the office door and immediately wanted to kick himself. Why couldn't he stop acting like an asshole around Sam? He swept his hair back from his face and took a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself. Okay—he was going back out there and he was going to apologize, finish up painting and go the hell home. And hide under the bed. He was sure he'd inflicted himself on everybody long enough for one day. Best to quit while he still had friends.

Shit.

Poor Sam. 

Whit vowed to make it up to him, stop acting like an ass and he'd just pasted on what he hoped was the appropriately peace-seeking expression when the door went flying open, colliding with the wall. Whit winced at the familiar crunching sound of drywall giving in to force. _'That's gonna leave a hole, guess I know who's patching that up—'_ and then Sam was in his face, and Whit was kind of amazed—he couldn't remember ever seeing Sam quite so unhinged before.

Sam's green eyes were burning; his cheeks were red with anger. "Look, you—you—pain in my _ass!_ I've had it up to here with you!" He made a throat slashing motion and Whit backed away to avoid getting poked. Sam followed and shouted, "You've made it abundantly clear how you feel. Can you give it a rest now? I mean, how God damn many ways do I have to say I'm sorry?"

Whit thought that there was a good spot to jump in and apologize, so—"Stop screaming at me!" Well, fuck, he thought, that was definitely not what he'd wanted to say.

"I'm not screaming. I'm yelling, I'm _shouting,_ I'm _tryin'_ real hard not to put my foot up your pale white ass!"

"My ass is not pale!" Whit fought the urge to smack himself. "And stop trying to distract me. You _never_ told me you were sorry—that's not your style, right? You just run off when things get rough!"

"First of all—I do not! And I came back! And everyone in the _state_ knows I was a total idiot, but they got past it—why the fuck can't you?"

"Because—because I was waiting for you to tell me you loved me—and—and. And when you did, you treated me like you bought me and then you dumped me…."

Sam dropped his head and when he spoke again, he was quieter. "I know, I was a bastard, but you don't—you _can't_ understand what I was going through at the time…"

"Fuck you, what _you_ were going through? God! You're so selfish! And you're a disgusting drunk! And _godamn,_ I hate you!"

Sam grabbed Whit by the neck of his shirt and slammed him into the wall. "No, you don't."

Whit snarled back, "Yes! I do! I hate you so much, it makes me sick!"

Sam flattened him against the wall with his body. "No. You don't."

Whit groaned, "I do, so much…"

Sam filled both hands with Whit's shirt, and pulled him to his mouth. He kissed Whit hard, knocked his head against the wall with a thump and Whit made a sound in protest that was swallowed in the kiss. Sam pressed on just as roughly, just as hard. Whit felt his teeth press into his flesh until it hurt and it was perfect, he needed it just like that.

 

The kiss changed—bit by bit it became less…frantic, less panicked and softer, gentle but…solid. Whit was afraid, and he knew that Sam was trying to put every bit of what he was feeling into it—maybe everything he'd held inside for years, maybe everything that he should have told or wanted to tell Whit. It was impossible of course, a single kiss can only hold so much but it was enough to break Whit open, to fill his heart, his soul…

Sam asked him, "Should I stop?"

Whit said, "Yes. I want you to stop." 

Sam nodded and said, "No." and kissed him again, softly this time, light as a feather, his lips touched Whit's, danced across his mouth and down his neck. Again he asked him, "Should I stop?"

Whit groaned. "You're going to hurt me."

"Never. I promise, never again."

"I don't believe you," Whit almost shouted. And Sam took his face in his hands and made Whit look into his eyes. "I will never hurt you. I will never try to hurt you. I love you."

Whit wrenched his hands away and they stared at each other for a moment before Whit reached up and grabbed a handful of Sam's hair, Sam yelped and staggered as Whit yanked him forward, hard.

"Bastard," Whit hissed and bared his teeth at him and Sam laughed, a laugh that went wild and thin when Whit ground against him. 

"Fuck yeah, I love you, I've loved you forever, I loved you when I was a snotty-nosed brat, I loved you when you were fucking all those girls and running off and leaving me here alone and getting _married,_ you fuck," and he bit Sam's lip hard, pulled until Sam gasped. He let go and Sam licked blood from his lip and Whit said "I loved you every time I let you beat me at basketball 'cause you _suck!_ "

Sam grabbed him and pushed him to his toes against the wall and ground their hips together.

"Let me win? Let me win! You must be trippin'!" 

Whit locked a leg behind one of Sam's and groaned when Sam ripped his zipper down, pulled at his pants until his dick sprung free. Whit was so hard—every time Sam touched him, it made him shiver, and his brain was beginning to shut down, only registering hot and hard and sweat and Sam.

Sam's breath was starting to go ragged, started to match Whit's rough breathing—he was panting, grinding against Whit and whispering dirty things in his ear, promising Whit things that made his dick twitch and made him gasp. Every push of Sam's hips, every stroke, brought him closer and closer, his dick spilled steadily in Sam's hand and an image of long ago filled his mind: Sam groaning and jerking his fist over his dick and Whit remembered how badly he'd wanted to touch him then and now Sam was touching him, was moaning and digging his fingers into Whit's thighs and suddenly Sam was shouting, and Whit could feel it, Sam pulse against him, felt the heat as he came in his pants. Heard him laughing and groaning "Jesus, Whit! Jesus…" 

Whit whined high in his throat and arched back so hard Sam staggered and they fell against the wall with a thud and he came in Sam's hand, calling out Sam's name like he'd never done anything like this before, like it was the first time he'd ever come….

They lay pressed against one another, silent; breathing hard. Sam recovered enough to speak first. "I'm sorry. I love you."

Whit gasped a little "I know. I love you too." He laughed weakly. "And I'm pretty sure Clark and Lex know it, too."

Sam groaned, "Ouch. I'll never be able to look at them again." 

"Yes, you will. They've been waiting for this anyway—well, maybe not this in particular."

Sam nudged Whit. "I get it. I get it. So, I'm just going to wait here until they leave."

"In that case, I'm very happy you have a washroom in here."

Whit grinned when Sam laughed and threw his arms around his shoulders. He wasn't going to think right now. He was just going to breathe and let it be.

~o0o~

Clark and Lex leaned on the other side of the closed door, eyes wide and sporting identical blushes. 

"Geez…Do you feel like some kind of pervert eavesdropper?" Clark asked. He reached up a hand to wipe at his mouth and his fingers trembled a little. He shoved his hands quickly into his pocket to cover the fact.

Lex nodded, mouth open and dry, "Worse," he husked, his throat gone dry. "What, what should we…screw it, lets just get the hell out of here."

"Umm…right home?" Clark asked and his voice rose into a squeak. "Home? The house?"

"God no! The barn!" Lex looked at him like he'd gone insane, "and fast as you can or else."

Clark groaned. "I don't now if I can pick you up without… you know." and he cupped himself protectively.

Lex rolled his eyes. "Take me home, idiot, he said fondly.

~o0o~

"Nice motel," Sam said and pushed the door shut. He looked around the room and felt a little awed by how completely bland and featureless it was.

"You think so?" Whit asked and sat on the edge of the bed. He stroked the brown blanket slowly and looked around the room with a critical eye. Brown and red floral curtains were at the window, dark and heavy enough to block out the late afternoon sun completely. The pale beige walls were unadorned, no pictures, no hangings, the red and brown curtains matched the brown carpeting and blanket. Concern for Sam's taste was evident in the look he turned toward him.

 

Sam repeated, "It's nice," in a voice that was nearly as bland as the room.

Whit grinned and Sam could feel his cheeks flush. He scowled a little and said, "It's…well, I'm not going to say it's nice again. So…been here before?"

Whit kept grinning.

"I mean, it's ni—fuck it. Is this where you and that marine guy come? Came? Sleep?—fuck—you know what I mean!" Sam threw himself in the desk chair and it skidded backwards and fetched against the desk with the force.

Whit lifted an eyebrow, "Hey—chill. What, are you trying to tell me you're _jealous?"_

"Hell no!" Sam frowned. "No—yes—I am. Why did you pick this place?"

Whit sighed. "Because it's close, it's clean and there's a great diner not too far down the road. And I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry. If it makes you feel better, we were never in this room."

"Oh thanks a fucking lot, and no—it doesn't make me feel better." Sam pouted a moment before looking at Whit again. "Hey, sorry, don't pay attention to me. It's just—I never really thought about him—you—it before. This kind of…makes it real, y'know?" 

 

Whit nodded, "Um-hmm, I get it. It's okay. And I forgive you." Sam snorted and Whit lay back on the bed and laughed. "Sam—we've been together for all of an hour, can we save the fights for later, I really want to have you over here with me, on the bed…"

Sam grinned back. "Right. We'll argue later."

He lay down next to Whit and just looked at him. Amazed that this man wanted him. Had wanted him for so long. Sam shivered a little—finally, finally he was here next to the one he'd wanted to be next to for…forever, it felt like….

Whit closed his eyes and Sam kissed him, thought that he'd never get tired of kissing him, never—until the moment when Whit's hand skimmed over his crotch.

"If we take our clothes off, we can have this feeling all over," Whit said as he slid his palm over Sam's tight stomach. "Relax, you're so tense, so stiff…"

Sam laughed. "Oh, you have no idea," and shuddered as Whit cupped him and whispered against his neck, "Oh, I think I do."

They helped each other to undress, turning a moment's work into long minutes of laughing, stumbling around each other, getting to know each other in a new way.

Sam lay on his back, his arms stretched towards the head of the bed, his toes pointed towards the foot, and Whit lay full length on top of him. Every inch of skin touched, every movement brought a new part of them into contact, and their chests expanded against each other with each breath they took, heart beat against heart beat. Whit pressed down, and Sam groaned as the movement brought his dick against Whit's and sent a charge through him. When Whit moved again, Sam found himself throwing his legs around Whit, pulling him in tight and close against himself, smiled when Whit moaned softly. They fell into a rhythm—roll, push, grind, dick sliding and catching against dick and fueling the electricity that buzzed right under their skins. Sweat began to ease the glide somewhat, pre-come helping to smooth the way, faster, harder. 

Sam was panting now and Whit smiled down at him. His hair fell around his face, and made a curtain through which his eyes, glazed and pupils wide, peered at Sam, his cheeks and neck were flushed dark pink, his mouth was wet and red and his tongue glided out and around his lips and Sam hissed.

"Oh God, don't—don't look at me like that, you'll make me come!" Sam panted harder and closed his eyes, desperately trying to control his body.

Whit chuckled and thrust down, the rough pull of hair and skin against his sensitive flesh made Sam gasp and shiver, _not yet, not yet! _at the same time the damp heat between them made him want more…more everything—Whit pushed and rocked and the iron hardness of his dick slid along the groove of Sam's hip, slid and caught against him—"God! More!"__

__"Whit, Whit—just touching you, oh God…" Sam held them tight, locked their legs together, dug his fingers into Whit's hips with bruising force, hard enough to wring a strangled cry from him. Thrust harder and harder against Whit, their breath echoing harshly in the room that and the slap of flesh against flesh the only sound, until Sam began a low moaning that built more and more the harder he rocked up, louder and louder until he arched from the bed, yelled out, "Whit—fuck!" and came, spurting hot and hard against Whit's trembling stomach._ _

__

~o0o~

Whit tried to memorize every moment, every feeling. The sounds Sam made went straight to his dick, the feel of Sam's hair brushing and tangling against his teased and thrilled him, that dick was so hard against his, it almost hurt and God how beautiful Sam was, all that golden brown skin next to his own, brown hands wrapped around his, moving down his arms, rubbing over his ribs and then pressing, grabbing, digging into him. Whit angled his head to see Sam's fingers holding his hips so hard the skin was white where Sam dug his fingers in and the sight was so hot it made him yell…it was wonderful, it was amazing, the beautiful contrast—he looked down to catch sight of the deep purple head gliding against the dusky rose of his own weeping dick. Beautiful….

Suddenly Sam arched off the bed and Whit felt him pulse against his belly, he was caught up in the sight of Sam coming, the look on his face—eyes wide and astonished and mouth open on a shout, "Whit—fuck!"

Whit dropped his head and ground against Sam, and came as the wet flood of heat between them brought him to the edge, and he rode out the intense body-racking orgasm with his mouth locked on Sam's shoulder, sliding as he added to the wet. He shook and shook and heard Sam moaning, "God—I love you, I love you so much…" _I love you more than life, you're everything to me, you've always been everything to me._

~o0o~

Whit sat up and he was all alone in the dark. _'How did that happen? Where's Sam…shit! I'm home. I was dreaming the whole thing, damn it!_ Whit felt equal parts anger and sorrow, _of course it was a damn dream._

_He heard a click and in the dark corner of his bedroom where his desk sat, he saw a little flare of light and a smell of burning tobacco._

_"Oh, it's you," Whit said. Of course it was, who else…and what a strange dream he'd had about him…._

_"Hey. How you doing, kid?" The lazy drawl slipped around him, made Whit feel warm and a little…weird, almost sick, but not._

_"I'm good. You?"_

_"Can't complain. Nothing hurts, I feel…okay." The shadow stood and moved forward so that light from the blinds striped him. Bits of him were revealed and bits were in shadow and Whit laughed. Just like always._

_"Good." Whit shifted and sat up on the bed. He felt a brief flash of surprise that he was dressed but let it go, it wasn't important._

_"I missed you," spoken on an exhale and smoke wreathed around Whit's face._

_"You're not really here, you're dead." Whit said it with no surprise, and realized he was in a dream *now*, and suddenly the shadow was Wade._

_He nodded. "Yes. Are you happy yet?" He came over and sat on the bed next to Whit; it creaked and sank under both their weights. Wade stroked a hand through his hair. "I just wanted to tell you—keep this part of you wrapped up tight. If you don't let it rule, you'll be fine."_

_Whit looked at Wade, puzzled by his words. "What part?"_

_Wade stood and grinned down at him. "All of our parts, what we shared…how we felt. You know…you know what I mean."_

_Whit started to get irritated. "You come to visit and waste our time with puzzles."_

_Wade started to walk away, he waved and smiled as he went and the bedroom turned into a long dark tunnel, a subway tunnel, dark and dirty, and a cold wind blew up from the tracks. Whit shouted, "Wait! Tell me something else!"_

_"I can tell you this," Wade said and they were standing on the steps of an enormous, gothic looking building, huge wooden doors loomed behind Wade's head and Whit began to be frightened. Wade reached out and took his hand, said, "No matter what I did, I did love you."_

_Whit cried, his tears felt so hot on his cheek and a tiny part of him wondered if he was really crying; he asked Wade if this was just wish fulfillment and Wade kissed his forehead._

_"I gotta go—see you 'round."_

_Behind him the doors opened, flooding everything with blinding white light and Whit closed his eyes in fear, and woke with a gasp. His heart was pounding…_

Sam was deep in sleep, pressed up along his side in the motel room bed. Whit shuddered, gooseflesh springing up all over. The dream had been fuckin' _eerie_. Whit shuddered again and shoved the blankets off. The damn dream had been too fucking weird…Wade—"Shit," he muttered quietly.

Whit made his way to the dingy beige bathroom and leaned his hand against the wall as he relieved himself and tried to get the dream out of his mind. It gave him the creeps, but in thinking about it, he realized it was damn good advice and he got what his brain was trying to tell him. No more Wades.

If he wanted him and Sam to work, he'd have to make sure he was doing the right thing. He'd have to make sure he didn't fuck Sam up. He was surprised that it was actually comforting, to think that Wade had loved him. Wade might have been a fucked up piece of shit, and he knew staying with Wade would have killed him eventually but he couldn't help it--a tiny part of himself relaxed a bit with the thought. And that was fucking scary, and why he didn't trust himself, Whit thought. _There's a piece of me that's broken, I need to fix that._

He would talk to talk to Sam. Sam would get it, he knew. Sam would help him to take care of it.

Whit walked back across the room and got into the creaky bed carefully as he could, trying not to wake Sam. When he lay down, Sam made a little sound and wrapped his arms around Whit, burrowed into him and sighed before dropping back into deeper sleep.

_Fuck _—Whit fought not to let loose the tears that wanted to spill out. This was it—this was really it. Happiness. It came kind of came sneaking in on little cat's feet like the fog or whatever…quiet and simple and it filled him right up. He lay in the dark wrapped up in the feel of Sam, the smell of him, the warmth of him and finally understood—this was what it was to be happy.__

____

~o0o~

2005

The days were long, and warm and perfect, just before they began turning hot and sticky the kind of days that made a person want to be out and lying in the grass, the kind of days that brought back memories of 'remember when', when kids ruled the earth and all day long they played and played—completely free because mom and dad were taking care of everything, and it was still good, still a safety net and not a choke chain.

But now—now everything was about to change forever.

Excitement. Everyone felt it to some degree or another. Prom did that…Prom was what some of them had been waiting for… forever it seemed. A milepost on the way to adulthood and decisions to make that were theirs alone, choices that belonged solely to them. Time was coming in which promises would be made or broken; love was built or lost… future goals outlined. Some would be met and others dropped along the wayside as the real world introduced itself to them. But at this moment, the world was shiny and bright and full of immense possibilities and every single one…was perfect.

~o0o~

Clark stood facing the window, watching the setting sun glow orange across the fields, and shifted slightly from foot to foot. Lex smacked him lightly on the shoulder. 

"Come on now, be still. I'll never get this straight unless you're still, Clark."   
Lex undid the tie and began again. Clark sighed heavily, reached out and rested his hands on Lex's hips. "It's the second time you've tied it. Are you sure you know how to do this?"

Lex rolled his eyes and said, "I know you're tired of all the prep but you'll thank me later. And you'll thank me for not letting you get a string tie, for god's sake." Lex was still horrified that Clark had even suggested such a thing. Clark rolled _his_ eyes.

"First of all, I was kidding. I was!" he insisted at Lex's snort of disbelief. "Secondly, that's not what's bothering me." 

"Clark," Lex said warningly.

He let go of Lex and folded his arms, scowling. "It's not fair! We can go, but we can't dance together, we can't get our picture taken together—we can't do anything together tonight and it's supposed to be the most important night of our lives!"

"Clark…" Lex sighed. "We've been over and over this. It's the way it is, and we just have to get past it. It's not like it's a surprise, not like we haven't known it forever." 

Clark threw himself down on the bed. "And it's not like everyone doesn't know we're together, not like they don't know we're gay…and Whit, and…it's not right."

"God, Clark, do you think you're the first person to have discovered that? It's life as we know it here in Kansas—and it's going to stay like that until people decide to change it or someone comes along who's able to lead people into making that decision. What we need Clark, is someone who can yank these idiots out of the dark ages." He skimmed a hand over his head. "I just hope they come along in my lifetime, you know?" he said and laughed a little bitterly.

Clark looked at Lex and saw something in Lex's face that made his heart skip a beat. Lex could be that person, if he wanted to. One day, Lex was going to do great things, no doubt of that Clark thought, and when it happened, he'd be at Lex's side, ready to help in any way he could. 

Clark smiled and enjoyed his daydream, him and Lex against…everything, everyone if need be. No way the two of them couldn't succeed at whatever they set their minds to.

"Clark, are you listening? Never mind—I know you're not." Lex huffed and plopped down on the bed next to him. He leaned over and pressed a brief, soft kiss on Clark's forehead. "We're going to have a good time tonight no matter what—at least we can laugh at all the powder blue tuxes and brocade vests, right?"

"Lex! Don't be mean!" Clark laughed. "Hey—did you know Whit was going with one of Pete's friends?"

Lex got up and pulled his tuxedo from the closet. "How is it that all of Pete's friends are girls? Doesn't it bother Lana at all?" Lex asked as he hung his jacket on the hook over the closet door and brushed it carefully.

Clark shrugged. "Why should she worry? She knows Pete is stupid in love with her, besides she's not an insecure person." Clark smiled. "She's one of the strongest, most together people I know." Lex looked at him and raised an eyebrow and Clark could feel his ears turn pink.

"Well." Lex smiled and said, "Overcoming difficult circumstances can either make you or break you. Lana's a lucky girl, besides being a strong one. She's got friends who love her very much." 

Clark studied him as Lex moved about the room, putting the studs in his shirt and looking drop dead sexy without even trying. That was one of the cool things about Lex, Clark thought. He made everything look effortless. He looked so calm and cool, almost icy. And yet, he was so passionate about everything…. Clark nodded thoughtfully. Overcoming difficult circumstances changed you, true. Look at Whit—look at Lex. Both of them had come through stuff that would have destroyed a weaker person. They were like heroes.

Lex turned to him and said as if he'd read his mind. "You too, Clark. You survived circumstances the rest of us would have no idea how to deal with. You're the strongest one of us all, and I mean more than physically." 

Clark blushed. "I—it's just…" He shrugged. "You just deal with stuff, day by day, right?"

Lex chuckled. "Now you're getting it, Clark. We're not heroes, we're just dealing."

Lex looked in the mirror to fix his bowtie and Clark came up behind him and hugged him. "Unh-uh, Lex, no matter what you think, you're my hero." 

Lex leaned his head back against Clark's shoulder and gazed at their reflection. 

"You saved my life Clark. Twice. Shit—everyday you're with me, you save my life. You are my hero."


	13. Chapter 13

The decorations that transformed The Manor were festive—or maybe bizarre. Pete argued that the theme was actually Explosion in A Balloon Factory, not Masquerade or whatever, and the others were inclined to agree. It was pretty…shiny.

"So—are you guys coming to the party after?" Pete looked around the dance floor, peering at the gyrating couples intently.

"Which one—he official one or the unofficial one?" Clark asked.

Pete snorted, eyes never leaving the floor as he said, "Don’t be silly—the unofficial one of course…down by the lake?" He looked towards the punch fountain, his brow furrowed. 

Clark shrugged and looked at Lex. "We’ll have to see what happens...if we go, maybe we’ll catch a ride with you." Lex shrugged back and poked at the mini-explosion of silver and red Mylar that he thought might be flowers, or might be little masks. "Sure," he muttered, totally absorbed in the odd little centerpiece. What in God’s name was it supposed to be? He frowned, ears turning pink when he caught Clark grinning at him.

"Okay, don’t forget, you guys should come—oops. There goes my girlfriend." Pete’s face lit up and he stood quickly. "Let me grab her." 

"Okay. Catch up with you later, Pete."

Lex leaned forward; elbows planted on the table, and sipped his plastic cup of punch, watching the couples on the dance floor. Clark sighed and Lex didn’t even look his way, just held his hand up and said, "Don’t start."

Clark huffed and settled back against his chair and hidden under the cloth, slid his hand up Lex’s thigh, and squeezed gently. He worked his way slowly up his leg, knuckles gently working against the taut muscle, fingers smoothing until Lex smacked his hand away.

"Clark! Stop!" Lex laughed into his cup, "You almost made me spill this—this disgusting excuse for punch on myself. Although it probably would be better if I absorbed it through my skin instead of drinking it," he muttered.

Clark grinned and his cheeks and lips were red. He looked a little warm; he felt a lot warm and took a swig of his own. "It’s good Lex—nice and sweet!"

"Yes, it is Clark. Apparently it’s red, wet, sugar—just the way you like it."

Whit suddenly appeared and dropped down in the chair next to Clark. "Hey! You guys aren’t arguing, are you? Not tonight!" He grinned widely, and the girl with him looked a little stunned and befuddled.  
Lex at the girl and then at Whit, and frowned. "Hey. You didn’t…?"

"What?" Whit looked confused; he glanced over at his ‘date’ and grimaced at Lex, "No! I don’t do that anymore." He leaned in and whispered to Lex, "I have no idea what’s with her. She’s been like that since we got here. I don’t think she likes me." 

Clark laughed, "I think you bedazzled her, Whit," and laughed again at Whit’s confused look.

Lex smiled, relieved. "You have no idea how charming you can be, Whitney."

Whit’s expression went from _‘I don’t get it’_ to _oh!_ "Oh—" He turned to the girl and asked, "Chantel, did Pete explain the whole situation to you? I mean, mostly about me and his brother?" 

She looked almost comically disappointed but said, "I know. Pete told me. I was just…kind of enjoying the illusion."

He shrugged and patted her shoulder. "Sorry…wanna dance?" She nodded with enthusiasm and he grabbed her hand and pulled her out to the dance floor, flirting and teasing, joking with her until he made her relax, and laugh.

Clark smiled after them. "See? You can teach an old dog new tricks"

Lex glanced at Clark. "Maybe so, Clark, maybe so."

~o0o~

Pete and Lana strolled arm in arm in the velvety dark under the trees that lined the Manor driveway. They could still hear music coming from the ballroom, but they felt as though they were in a private world of their own.

They talked about graduation, and about what they hoped their future would be and mostly about where they would be—together.

Lana leaned her head against Pete’s shoulder and let Pete wrap her in his jacket. "Do you think we’ll always love each other, Pete?" she looked away from him, and she sounded so wistful that Pete’s heart skipped.

"What kind of question is that—you know what my answer is."

"Tell me anyway, Pete. Say it out loud, please?"

Pete closed his eyelids against the sudden sharp pricking of his eyes. His heart did a slow roll, and he said, "Of course I’ll always want to be with you. Nothing could ever change that—nothing."

"Then that’s the way it will be. We will always be together, no matter what." She smiled up at Pete, so...satisfied, so content.

Pete was rocked by her faith in him; her belief in him was so total it made him believe. "We’ll be together because we’re supposed to be together, it’s Destiny." He wiped his eyes quickly before Lana could see.

"That’s cute, the way you said that," she said with a small grin. "I heard the capital D."

"See, even though you treat me with sarcasm and mock my every word, I love you. Nothing can change that." 

She swung out from his arm and he swung her back and they fell into a sweeping dance step, ending with him dipping her. The moon gilded her features and made her glow like ivory and he thought to himself, _Pete, you’d be an idiot to ever let anything happen to destroy this. You’d die without this woman_. Aloud he said, "You’re kind of heavy. Feel my arm shaking? I think it’s coming out of the socket…."

"Not yet, it’s not," she growled. He flipped her up against his chest and she held him tight, his jacket slipping to the ground.

"Pete, I love you more than you can imagine. You’re like…like oxygen. I need you that much."

He grinned at the sky and rested his chin on the top of her head. "I know," he said.

~o0o~

Cars lined up at the curb and kids piled in, hands full of balloons and mementos, laughing and yelling back and forth to each other, the girls were squealing and hugging each other as their guys stood by and rolled their eyes or punched each other, overcome by the emotion of the night. The air seemed to vibrate with expectation, and even the boys were caught up in it. Clark and Lex decided to go with Pete and Lana after all, Clark felt it would salvage some part of their night and Lex wanted Clark to be happy. 

Whit stood on the curb, arms linked with the girl he came to the dance with, talking to the boys and trying to make up his mind…go with his friends or…A car horn beeped and he looked over. "Sam!" 

Sam got out of the car and looked Whit and the young woman over, his expression blank and still. 

"Hey Whit. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and see if you needed a ride?" His voice was soft and he sounded quiet and very calm.

Whit motioned him forward and when he got close to him, kissed him with great enthusiasm. "This is my boy friend," he told Chantel. "This is Sam."

"Ohhh…So this is Sam," she said, a little breathless, "I can see why, you’d be a fool not to grab him up." She held out her hand and said, "Hi, I’m jealous—but I’m not sure of whom," she grinned. "Let me check if my ride is still here." She winked at Sam, "Your brother was right. You guys are great together."

She waved and walked away, and Whit smiled at Sam. "Jealous?"

"No! I’m a grown ass man—I don’t get jealous like some little—okay, yeah, a little. I mean, you standing here holding some girl’s hand and…do you want to come with me or…?"

"Naw." Whit cut him off. "Let’s go home." He started for the SUV and stopped, looked at Sam. "You know I love you, right?" Sam tried not to look too pleased but he couldn’t stop a grin and Whit laughed. "God, you’re so fucking easy!"

"I know," Sam grinned.

~o0o~

The bonfire threw shadows high against the trees, light glittered and danced on the lake water. It was pretty loud out there, what with everyone conversing at the top of their lungs and music roaring from a couple of different players. Smoke rose into the dark, drifting past Clark’s face, and Lex drank from the bottle in his hand and grimaced slightly. "Clark, how long do you want to stay here?"

"I guess until Pete and Lana are ready to leave," he answered, his head bobbing slightly out of time to one of the songs blaring close by them.

"You look good in your tux," Lex said as he ran his hand down the lapel and tweaked the small red rose pinned on it. Clark smiled at him and drank his soda.

Lex sipped again and said, "No…I mean really good." And his expression said _I want to eat you alive starting with your toes_ and Clark could feel his cheeks flaming.

"Yeah? You too, Lex…you always look good." Clark moved closer and Lex lifted his head back, tilted the bottle to his mouth to empty it and Clark seized the moment to kiss Lex's throat. 

"Clark!"

Clark dropped his soda can. "Fuck it Lex, screw all of them!" and he grabbed Lex roughly by his forearms, yanked him close and kissed him deeply, kissed him until they were both breathless. 

"If anyone makes a move on us," Clark growled, "I swear to God, I’ll—I’ll…"

There were some whistles and catcalls and one or two grumbles of ‘fags,’ but no one interfered, no one came after them with flaming torches and Clark threw his arm around Lex’s shoulder. "See? Sometimes, it’s something simple that makes a change."

"Clark.." Lex began, and then laughed. "Maybe you’re right."

Clark smiled. "Then can I have this dance?" And they danced to their own music on the shore of the lake. They slowly circled, Clark humming in Lex’s ear, and danced gradually back from the flame, back from the people until they were alone under the shelter of the trees. They leaned into each other, slower and slower until their movements were just a slow grind, hands on asses and hips moving together, brushing hardness against hardness. Clark’s song changed to a deepening of his breath, a gasping inhale and exhale matched by Lex. The heat of their bodies sent beads of sweat rolling down their backs, their ribs and they were still, just thrusting against each other. Lex moaned and pushed into Clark and Clark held him tighter and whispered, "Lex, Lex…"

Lex slid his hand between them and slowly unzipped Clark as he watched his face—the way his eyes got wide and his lips parted slightly, the way the tip of his tongue gleamed wetly between his teeth—

Lex hissed and slid his hand into the opening and wrapped his fingers around the velvety heat. He rubbed his thumb over and around the crown, and loved feeling Clark pulse against his palm. Clark stopped him with a gentle touch to his wrist, then did the same to Lex, unzipped him, pulled his pants down enough to release him, and they stroked each other, pressed their mouths together and caught each others moans, they slid together, skin tight against skin, too perfect. Darkness made it even more intense, the breeze blowing across their skin was like the touch of another hand and made Clark shiver. He stepped back from Lex, moved his hand away from his leaking dick. Clark stopped Lex's protest with a kiss, lined his dick up with Lex’s and gathered them up together in his hand. Lex gasped and gripped Clark's hips tightly. "Clark, harder, god—harder please-- _more!"_

 

Clark jerked them rougher, faster, and Lex leaned in close, grabbed Clark’s lower lip in his teeth and groaned, matching Clark s groan, his breath blowing hot across Clark's mouth.

Clark shivered, a slow roll that swept him from head to toes and made his dick jerk. "Feel it?" He whispered harshly in Lex’s ear. "Do you feel it, it’s coming—I’m coming," he groaned deeply and his dick jerked, pulsed and spilled, the sensation of warm come slicking over Lex’s dick pushing him over the edge with Clark. 

Clark clutched Lex and Lex wound himself as much as he could around Clark, nothing but the two of them in the huge black night and it was so right— Clark wanted it forever. They leaned on each other until the aftershocks wore off and they could move again. They helped each other to pull together, and Lex straightened Clark’s tie, rubbed the back of his hand over Clark’s fever–warm cheek. "I love you," Clark whispered to him.

"Oh yes," Lex replied.

"I trust you."

"Even better." Lex whispered into Clark's neck. "Even better."

~o0o~

Whit woke up because the bed was cold, Sam wasn’t wrapped around him and it felt wrong.

He lay quiet for a moment, lost in a haze of contentment, reviewing every bit of the night before. Coming home after Prom, heading upstairs, talking long into the night—it had been wonderful. Every time they talked Whit felt their connection building, getting stronger and last night, they’d talked about a future together. They talked about the business and Whit playing a part in it and Whit had practically floated then.

Sam wanted him, he really did. All of him, not just the sex, though the sex was unbelievable. He had no idea how every one else’s prom night went but he had no complaints about how he ended his. 

Sam was amazing—he was every bit as kind and loving as Charlie had been, and talented—god, was he ever talented. But it was—there was no way to compare them, he’d liked Charlie so much, had trusted him but he loved Sam. He wanted to trust him as much as he loved him. 

When there was no ignoring his bladder anymore, he groaned and hopped out of the bed, forced to start the day. He made his way into the bathroom, relieved himself and let the shower run until it got warm—brushed his teeth and thought about a future that he hadn’t ever been sure before he’d have. He grinned at himself in the mirror. Whit had thought life had gotten as good as it could for him, but now that Sam had finally come to his senses, it was just amazing—nothing stood in their way. He brushed a little harder and thought fiercely that things had finally begun to fall into place and damn it, the two of them were definitely past due some happiness.

He was whistling as he ran down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. He was starving, and happy and starving! 

He hoped he wasn’t too late for breakfast, probably was since he didn’t see Pete. Damn. He also hoped Pete had left him some breakfast. The way that boy could eat was almost frightening. Whit wondered idly if Sam cooked—he wondered if he should learn to cook—

Abbie was hollering, Bill was yelling and of course Mr. Stupid’s hollering right back. Whit groaned, exasperated with Sam and his temper.

"Watch yourself boy—don’t forget who you’re talking to." Bill growled his words in a tone Whit couldn’t ever remember hearing from him, no matter how angry Bill had been over some hair-brained stunt he’d pulled. "You’re going too far, Samuel," Whit heard Bill say. "In my house you respect my rules you, hear? I don’t give a flying fuck what you've got to say."

 _Shit! Shit! Shit, shit!_ Whit bit his lip—hard. Bill was cursing in front of Abbie which meant Sam had pushed everyone over the edge—again. If he shut the hell up right now, they might still salvage this—and what the hell where they fighting about anyway? Damn that boy!

"You telling me and Whit what we can and can’t do?" Sam snapped.

 _Mother fuck! Thanks for bringing my name into it_ , Whit thought and debated running away. He really did like Clark’s loft—a few blankets and he’d be cozy and—

"No one is sleeping together in my house, under my roof, without being married, you hear me?" Whit heard the tremor in Abbie’s voice, and sighed. This was not going to get better anytime soon.   
"Well fuck me! Is it that easy?" He heard Sam shout. "Well, let us get married right now—where at, Ma? The courthouse? Smallville Baptist? What the hell, let's do it in the back yard. You can do the honors."

There was dead silence for a minute—a minute that seemed to spin out to an eternity. Whit spun on his heel and started for the door and freedom when a voice like a shotgun crack brought him right back. 

"Whitney Fordham, get your butt in here right now," Abbie called out.

Fuck, Whit thought, panic making his eyes burn. How does she do that? "Yes ma’am, coming," he said aloud and slouched into the kitchen.

Sam was backed up against the sink like an animal at bay, his face a mask of anger, his green eyes rivaled Clark’s for intensity at the moment—he was furiously pressing his lips together, so hard that they were pale.

Abbie glared right back at him, mouth turned down in a ferocious frown and her nostrils flared in anger—her hands were fisted tight at her sides and her chest was heaving. Whit felt his gut crawl. Fighting, shouting…it still bothered him, even when he knew it wouldn’t end like…it used to when he was a kid, it still made him feel a little sick.

Bill turned to him and Whit felt his stomach tighten, he tried to look calm. "What made you think you could have sex in our home?"

 

Whit paled, his mouth opened and nothing came out. _Our home? Sex? Oh fuck, oh fuck…_ "I—I—I’m sorry?" 

Bill yelled at Sam. "Whit knows how to act—but you come in here and turn his head around, and make the boy stupid!"

Whit looked at them open-mouthed. He tried to decide if they were angry with him, it seemed maybe…not. They were pissed as hell at Sam, but not so much at him? Whit felt confused and a little, just a little, relieved. 

Sam shook his head. "You don’t want me messing up your happy home?" he yelled, "Fine. I’ll leave!"

He brushed past Whit, who stared after him, and stuttered, "S-Sam! Come back! Wait!"

They heard the front door slam.

Whit groaned and closed his eyes. Facing the Rosses alone was going to be fun. He just might die of embarrassment. If he was lucky.

"Look, Mom Ross, Bill—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean disrespect."

"It’s not your fault, Whitney, but we count on you to have more sense. You have separate bedrooms, you use them. This is not a motel, you hear?"

Whit blushed and stammered and apologized again and desperately wished this wasn’t about sex and Bill patted him on the shoulder. 

"I feel sorry for you, Whit. You got your work cut out for you, boy." He poured a cup of coffee and told his wife, "If you need me, I’ll be on the patio trying to enjoy the morning, or what’s left of it." 

He left, tossing Whit a look as he did. He looked so sympathetic and Whit felt like an idiot and tried to pretend he had no idea at all what Bill was talking about. Whit turned back to watch Abbie, chewing on his thumb and watching as she puttered about a little, making tea, putting cookies on a plate, and arranging them over and over before forcing herself to stop. She shook her head and sighed deeply before bringing tea and the cookies to the table and sitting down.

She poured tea for the both of them before speaking. "Son, this just can’t go on. I never let the boys have their girlfriends in their rooms, and I’m not starting with you and Sam. I’m sorry—that’s the way it is."

Whit nodded. He didn’t have a problem. He could live with it—for now.

"Sam thinks it’s about you and him being—" She gestured vaguely. "Being boys. That’s not it. Sam just needs to get over that. Hard head." She shook her head and took a vicious snap of her cookie.

He nibbled the edge of his own cookie and thanked god that it was store bought. He wasn’t sure that he could deal with guilt _and_ Abbie’s homemade cookies. "When…when…" he could feel himself blushing again and cursed. Mom Ross made him so tongue tied, scary little woman.

She sighed. "That’s the thing, isn’t it? You boys can’t get married. I—I don’t know, Whit. I’ll have to think on that." She stared down at the cup cradled between her hands for a moment before lifting her eyes to him. "When will that boy ever calm down?" she asked sadly. "When will he stop treating us like his enemies?"

"Oh Mom, he doesn’t think you’re his enemies! He’s just got a crappy short fuse—he’s getting better at controlling it, I swear. He depends on you guys really, he loves you very much."

Abbie laughed and stood, hugging Whit briefly. "Okay then Whitney, I’ll believe you." She looked at him, holding him at arms length and searching his face. "Whit, I want you to be happy. Let me think about all this please?"

"Yes, ma’am." He nodded. "And don’t worry, okay?"

She nodded too, and left the kitchen.

Whit got up and cleaned the table. He washed the cups and put them to drain, and glanced out the window. He could see the Rosses sitting on the bench in the back yard. Abbie leaned against Bill and Bill put his arm around her, and Whit felt his eyes prick. 

For one horrible moment he’d thought he’d cry. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and leaned his head against the fridge and prayed for strength. Hold out until graduation, hold on…and don’t kill Sam, he scolded himself. Eventually everyone would miss Sam if he did, maybe even himself….

~o0o~

Graduation: nerve-wracking, stomach-twisting, boring, exciting, just about every emotion in the world, and it felt like they were experiencing them all, one after the other. Over and over.

They were herded out onto the field and commanded to take their places, and pretty much they managed it without too much trouble. Clark felt excitement, relief—next stop, out of Smallville! It was a great feeling—and somehow sadder than he thought it would be. He looked out toward the bleachers opposite them and remembered coming out to this field when he was a middle schooler, terrified at the thought of beginning _high school,_ worried if he’d be able to do the work, handle the older kids—he laughed quietly. Yep, and his first act out here had been to rescue Whit from the older kids. He shook his head. What a _lot_ had changed since then. That was another lifetime ago, kind of like a nightmare they all woke up from... 

They sat in the cordoned off section of the bleachers and sweated in their robes; he figured they had to be made of purest asbestos. At his side, Lex quietly and ferociously complained about the cap and its desire to slide rakishly to one side on his head. Clark prayed that the darn thing would settle down or in a minute he was going to have to grab Lex and kiss him to get him to shut up.

He leaned over and waved at Lana sitting near the end of the row. She looked beautiful, he thought, loving how her eyes sparkled. Her hair was shining in the sun, a beautiful sweep of ebony against the red of her robe and her smile…he felt a rush of love for her. In a different world, he thought, maybe she could have been the one. He reached a hand out and gripped Lex’s—but he was lucky enough to be in this one, with this love.

She waved at him and tilted her head back to search out Pete. Clark looked too.

There he was, near the top row, nerves making him look fierce—he scowled out over the crowd until he caught sight of Lana, then his scowl melted into such a look of love, pure and shinning so strongly on his square face that Clark had to look awa—it was too intimate a look to share.

He glanced around, looking for Whit, but before he found him, Lex elbowed his ribs and pointed down on the field.

His mom and dad were waving. He thought if they waved harder, they’d be airborne…yes, thank you, embarrass me some more, he thought, which Lex proceeded to do by waving madly back, smirking evilly at Clark. Clark nudged him. "Stop, or I’ll set your cap on fire…and I won’t use a match," he whispered. Lex snorted, but he stopped waving. Clark settled back with a satisfied grin when Lex blushed a little. He knew Lex liked it when he demonstrated a little bit of his powers. He liked it a lot.

The ceremony seemed to stretch on and on, and then there was Lana, shaking hands and receiving a full scholarship to Met U, Pete cheering in the background like a crazy person, and then suddenly he was up on the stage, feeling giddy and he was shaking the Principal’s hand and grinning from ear to ear and he could hear Whit and Pete yelling and then…

 

It was over. The kids poured from the stands out onto the field, sailing hats into the air like they were told _not_ to do, all the old rules forgotten—it was over, they were graduates! 

Lex laughed and grabbed his hand as Clark pulled them over to Jonathan and Martha. Tears stood in his parents' eyes as they hugged him hard and told him how much they loved him, and his mom grabbed Lex and wet his shirt and told him how proud they were of him. 

"It’s true, son, we couldn’t be prouder of you than if you were our own,"Clark's dad said, his cheeks pink and his face split by a huge grin.

His mom whacked his dad on the shoulder and Clark laughed at his exaggerated look of pain.

"He is ours, hon," she said as she beamed at Lex, her fingers curled around his. 

Clark looked at the blushing boy. "Are you crying?" he whispered. Lex turned to him slightly and growled. Clark grinned. Tears, yes. He was about to make a snide comment when he caught Lex’s reaction to something else. Lex tried to disguise it, but Clark picked up on it and searched the direction in which Lex was looking. 

Oh. George. 

Clark frowned. _what the heck was he doing here? He had no business_ … He quickly scanned the crowd, his vision zooming in and out, but there was no sign of Lex’s dad. _Good. Effing bastard_.

Just George, smiling like a Cheshire cat with a nasty secret. 

When George was assured of having Lex’s attention, he slowly held up an envelope. He raised an eyebrow and smirked at Lex. Lex glanced quickly at the Kent’s and seeing them occupied, he flipped George off and smirked back. George laughed and replaced the envelope in his jacket and rose from the bench, walked away without a backward glance.

Clark looked at Lex.

"What?" Lex asked  
.  
"Nothing," Clark replied, "Nothing, I guess."

Lex nodded and the subject was dropped. Clark sighed deep inside and stored that little incident away with the others. He knew it was significant, but… Lex would tell him everything someday…Clark knew he would…

The Kents stood together, all of them, arms around each other as someone who’d volunteered to do so snapped picture after picture of them, and then Clark and Lex were off, looking for Pete and Lana and Whit, looking for their friends in the milling crowd. 

Clark caught sight of Pete and his family and waved—all the Rosses were in attendance. Clark whipped up his camera and took a picture. They looked so happy, all of them, even Matthew was smiling, and he had his arm around Whit and Sam.

Clark looked at Lex. Lex shrugged and smiled. "I told you it would all work out."

"Oh, right, Mr. Know-It-All—you just knew everything was going to be perfect, hunh?"

"Of course. I said it was going to be, and I’m always right." 

Lex nodded and looked satisfied and Clark laughed. "Lex! I don’t have to explain hubris to you do I?"

Lex stopped and looked Clark up and down. "Well, well. Hubris? Clark, I’m surprised…you’ve actually been listening to me?" He winked at him. "I like it…remind me to show you how much. Later."

Clark blushed and nodded. "I will. Count on it."

~o0o~

Whit climbed down the back of the bleachers and yanked the robe off, rolled it in a ball and shoved it under his arm. He let out a long low groan—glad that was over—what a long ass day it’d been. Now, all he wanted to do was go home and relax. 

At least Bonehead was getting along with the folks again. That was a relief. He headed out to the field, looking for his family. He heard someone calling his name, and there was Matt. Whit wondered what he’d have to say. He wasn't too sure he was looking forward to the conversation.

Matt waved him over. 

"Every one’s down at the far end of the field waiting for you, Whitney," he said.

Whit nodded and walked after Matt. They walked a step or two before Matt stopped and turned to him.

"Well, Whitney, it’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?"

Whit nodded; a little surprised that Matt was indulging in small talk with him. He and Matthew weren’t buddies after all.

"I know that I’ve been harsh on occasion with you, Whitney—frankly I thought Mother and Father were crazy to take you in. I predicted a lot of trouble coming from that, and I wasn’t entirely wrong, was I?"

Whit colored a little. _blah fuckin’ blah—spit it out, you bastard—I know you don’t like me_.

"But you’ve pulled it out, Whitney. You’ve done us all proud with your dedication this last year. You did your best. That’s all anyone can ask of a person. I’m proud of you."

Whit struggled to conceal his shock. A compliment? From Matt?

"Samuel is a very personable, capable and intelligent man, with the right person he’ll go far in this life." Matt raised an eyebrow, coughed and looked away from Whit. "Seems that he might have found that person. I-I can’t say I can begin to understand this…but…I wish you the best." He looked again at Whit and held out his hand. There was an envelope in it. "Congratulations, Whitney." 

Whit began to protest, and Matt waved him off. "Tradition, Whitney—it’s a family thing."

Whit took the envelope and peeked in side, his eyebrows shot up—"Are you sure…"

Matt looked sternly at Whit and Whit shut up quickly and just smiled.

"You’re going to do well boy, and if you want to go on after Hutchin County, come talk to me—I can help you there." Matt hugged him awkwardly. "I’m…happy for you." They smiled at each other and then Matt pointed over his shoulder, patted his back and walked back to the family. Whit turned; Sam was there behind him. 

"Hey. Whit. I’m real proud of you."

"Yeah?" Whit grinned. "Good. You can show me how proud later." 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Damn, you have a one track mind, boy." He reached into his pocket and pulled his hand out; something was clutched in his fist. He held it out to Whit and opened it. A ring box sat on his open palm. 

Whit looked at him incredulously. "What is this?"

"Take it…if you want to," Sam said shyly, his cheeks flushed pink as he spoke.

Whit felt his heart melt. He took the box carefully from Sam and held it in his own. He blinked, cleared his throat. "This better not be a cockring."

"Gimme that motherfucker back," Sam snapped and grabbed for the box.

Whit laughed and fended off his frantic grabs—"Sorry! Sorry! I’ll be good!"

Sam grinned and said, "Open it, you idiot."

Whit opened the box and nestled on the velvet inside was a key. "What’s this?" he asked again, eyeing Sam curiously. 

Sam cleared his throat and said, "It’s the key to your new home…if you want it."

"What…"

"We—we have a place of our own. I mean, if you want to live with me. And please say you do because I thought really hard about this and I need you to be here for the rest of my fucking life—once I figure stuff out Whit, it stays figured out, I know I can be an asshole but I love you—shit, I love you so much"

"Stop babbling!" Whit yelled and Sam stopped, mouth open and eyes wide. "Okay." Whit said.

Sam blinked, opened his mouth. Closed it, blinked again. "Okay?"

"Okay—but I can’t work full time—you know I’m going to school—"

"Babe, you worry about school, I’ll worry about the rest." 

Whit grabbed Sam’s hand and shoved the key into the front pocket of his jeans. "Good. I always wanted to be a kept man."

Sam looked heavenward. "Lord, remember when I asked you to look out for me…what happened?"

~o0o~

The rest of the family met up with them and Whit got hugs from Kathy plus an envelope and a warning to be good and don’t embarrass the family. He got a hug and an envelope from Mike, who asked him if he was sure about a certain someone and got a standing offer for ass-kicking service as the certain someone smacked Mike on the back of his head. Everyone got into a loud discussion as to who was the most annoying family member, Pete pointing at Sam, Sam pointing at Mike, Abbie pointing around the little circle at everyone….

Whitney stood off to the side and watched them—this was his family. 

He wished sometimes—a lot of times—that he’d found his family sooner, but he was grateful that he _had_ found them. All that pain, all that…hunger, that desire to love and be loved back, he was lucky, he found the answer to that need here.

He watched them, feeling a rush of heat in his chest, thought _my people,_ and Mike leaned over Pete and called out, "White boy! What’re you doing all the way over there? Ow! Ma—what’d you hit me for?"

Whit laughed and trotted over and the circle closed around him.

~o0o~

September

Clark was sitting at his desk, and Lex was curled on the bed, watching him with a little smile. He loved watching Clark, watching his muscles move, watching him breathe. Just…watching him. He sighed a little and Clark jumped, jerked his eyes toward him.

Lex was instantly alert. "Clark? What are you doing?"

"What—what makes you think I’m doing anything…Lex?" 

He grinned and blushed bright and Lex knew. "You are doing something, what is it…" he jumped off the bed, and strolled over, and saw Clark waffle about hiding what he was doing…Lex curled over his shoulder and moved Clark’s hands from the keyboard. "Let’s see what’s capturing your attention so—oh! Oh. Oh…"

Clark wiggled a bit in his chair. "Remember when we almost…you know. And we never actually…um…did anything. Like that."

"I remember, oh yes," Lex breathed and stared at the beautiful young man on the screen. His head was arched back; his legs were in the air and locked around another man’s shoulders. As he watched, the man on the screen slowly pushed his dick into the other, into his pink and glistening hole. Lex could tell by the look on his face the man under him groaned, and Clark quietly groaned too.

"Wow," Lex whispered, "That’s really, really…" He stopped—his throat had gone dry, and he licked his lips.

"I know. Every time I look, I get hard."

"Oh really? Do you look at these, these things a lot?" Lex tried to put a sarcastic spin on his comment, but he was getting harder watching the screen and he touched himself quickly.

Clark swallowed so hard Lex heard him, and reached up for Lex’s hand. "Lex, it looks so—hot…" 

He turned the desk chair to face Lex, stroked his hand down Lex’s sides, slid his hands around until he was cupping Lex’s ass. Lex’s hip. "I want you to…to—I really want you to fuck me." He said all in a rush, and turned a furious red. He dipped his head, and went on. "I’ve been thinking about it, and I want to try it. I like it when you touch me there."

He blushed even more and looked down and Lex was torn between wanting to throw him on his back and wanting to hug him. He had to admit he was a little surprised—he expected that Clark would want to top, but…it was wonderful to imagine Clark wanted to give up so much control to him. He wrapped his hands around Clark’s head, tilted his head back and stared into his eyes. He very seriously asked, "How do you do that? How do you manage to be so sweet, after everything you’ve gone through?"

"Gone through? Like what?" he asked, and Lex could tell, he was genuinely puzzled. Clark was so concerned for him—for his friends their pain, their suffering, was all that mattered to him. God, I’m so fucking lucky,’ he thought, and kissed Clark. "What do we do, babe? Tell me what to do."

Clark led him back to the bed, and locked his bedroom door. He went to the nightstand, and took out a little bottle—lube—and a condom. "All the sites say to use one…and the lube." He frowned at the condom. "I don’t think I need it. I can’t get sick, not…not with human things anyway." He looked up shyly at Lex. "And I don’t think you can get sick either…"

Lex shook his head, and tried to still his galloping heart. After all they’d done, and how they touched each other, he felt nervous—he laughed softly. Virginal, even. 

Clark came to the bed, and lay down next to him. He put a big warm hand on Lex‘s hip, skimmed down the flannel pajama bottoms. "Look," he said. "You’re ready for me now." He slid down a bit, and licked Lex’s dick into his mouth, let it bounce onto his tongue. He closed his eyes and savored the taste of him.

"Oh, gosh Clark, you don’t want to do that for very much longer…"

Clark chuckled and came back up to kiss Lex on the mouth. "Fuck me, then."

Lex eased him over to his stomach. "Let me see, Clark. I want to see…"

Clark shivered and spread his legs, and Lex rubbed hands over him, leaned over and kissed him. And then, bit him, just to feel the tender flesh give, and sucked a bright red mark there, hard as he could, knowing it’d be gone in minutes….

Clark jerked and groaned so hard, so desperately, that Lex had to groan with him. "Oh, fuck, babe, that’s…" Lex pushed his cheeks apart, exposing the cleft, and the little puckered ring that begged for his attention. Clark was moaning steadily, moving his hips into the mattress. Lex bent closer and instinct made him lap quickly, almost tapping Clark. 

The reaction was astonishing, Clark keened, and pushed back, "More, more, oh!"

Lex trembled, moaned against Clark’s skin. He pushed his tongue harder and harder against him until the tip popped into the ring, and he began pushing, fucking him as Clark whined and panted and begged.

Lex leaned back, and slicked his trembling dick. He rubbed the head over the hole, teasing himself and Clark, teasing until he felt ready to explode. "Clark, turn over."

Clark rolled to his back, and his dick slapped against his belly, he threw his head back and whispered harshly, "Now, before I come thinking about it."

Lex nodded, and biting his lip, lined his head up with the ring, and shoved.

"Ah! Ow…"

"Does it hurt?" Lex was shocked and tried to move back, but Clark locked his ankles around his back.

"No, not really…not hurt…just. Slower—and more."

Lex exhaled, and slowly, steadily pushed into him. Clark snugged around him like a glove, hot, slick and just tight enough to make it perfect. Under him, Clark quivered and moaned, begged almost to himself, "fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," a constant murmur of sound that made Lex tremble and gasp. He held Clark’s hips, and sank in, pulled back and watched his dick slide out—his eyes rolled up when he sank back in. "Clark. Clark—I don’t think I can wait any more."

"Shit, Lex"

That was as much permission as Lex needed. His movements became frantic, wild; he pounded into Clark, knowing it was okay, that it was good for Clark. Suddenly a feeling like liquid lightening shot through him, muscles from his shoulders to his ass jumped and twitched and for a moment it felt like he was the one being fucked. The feeling slammed into him, quick and hardhe was silent and frozen and totally absorbed and amazed, caught up in a mind bruising orgasm that wrung every bit out of him and left him limp and barely aware of Clark shuddering around him as he spilled out his own orgasm. Lex shuddered through aftershocks and grinned wildly as Clark moaned his name over and over… "Clark, Clark, Clark…fuck—I love you so much!"

Clark was gasping for breath and nodding frantically, damp hair flying with each nod, "Oh yes, oh yes—that was…hot!"

Lex dropped down onto Clark, and jammed his face into his shoulder, and they both burst into giddy laughter. 

When they’d calmed a little, and where lying wrapped up in each other, stroking and trailing small kisses on what they could reach of each other, Lex let out a small sigh. "I really do, you know. Nothing could change how I feel about you."

"I know that, Lex," Clark whispered against his damp skin. "I love you, too. And nothing could change that for me either."

"Are you sure?" Lex asked, his voice quiet and almost childlike, and Clark squeezed him.

"Trust me babe—nothing on this planet could change the way I feel about you, ever."

~o0o~

"Red! Clark! Are you ready?" Jonathan called out as he tossed the last bag in the back of Lex’s truck. He stopped and rubbed out a scuffmark on the tailgate. God forbid Red see that, he grinned to himself.

Clark followed Lex out of the barn, carrying a bag and his cell phone squeezed between his cheek and shoulder. He shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight, and nodded at his dad. He tossed his bag in the truck and grabbed Lex’s, placed it in the bed next to his.

"We’re getting ready to leave now; we’ll meet up with you guys there, okay? All right. Later Pete." Clark stopped and looked around him, at the yellow farmhouse, past the barn out to the fields, at his parents and suddenly his stomach clenched, hard. His mouth was dry… _‘Am I ready for this? I’m not! I’m not ready…’_

Lex kissed his cheek. "Come on Clark. We need to get on the road. It will be all right, I promise."

Martha held out her arms and squeezed Clark when he stepped into the circle of her arms. "Don’t worry, you’re not far—come home whenever you want, okay?" Her voice shook a little and the tip of her nose was red. Clark smiled down at his mother and kissed her nose.

"You guys will be fine," she continued, "Lex, honey, give me a kiss." When Lex leaned in to hug her and kiss her cheek, she whispered, "Take care of Clark—I worry about him. You—you’re the strong one." She squeezed him hard and Lex laughed. 

"I don’t know about that, Martha, but we’ll take care of each other, don’t worry."

Jonathan walked up behind them, hands full of maps and snacks Martha had wrapped up for them. At Lex’s raised eyebrow, he sighed. "I know, I know, it’s only a three hour drive but the woman’s afraid your boyfriend will starve to death on the way."

Clark grinned and opened the bag—"Great! Pie!"

Suddenly the sound of crunching gravel caught their attention; two cars were pulling into the driveway. Jonathan saw an SUV, and behind it—a black Mercedes.

"It’s your dad’s car, Lex," Clark said, and frowned. Jonathan was surprised at the depth of dislike evident in Clark’s expression. Lex’s head whipped toward the driveway and his expression was such a stew of conflicting emotion that Jonathan hurt for him. 

Clark concentrated on the tinted windows of the Mercedes and said, "It’s just the driver…no one else."

Jonathan saw the lick of disappointment before a bitter smile settled on Lex’s face. "Stay here, Red," he said. "I’ll see what he wants." Lex nodded and Clark came to stand next to him, slipping his arm around Lex’s waist. A few minutes later, the Mercedes pulled away and Jonathan came back with an unmarked envelope and handed it to Lex. Lex grinned at Clark and showed him the envelope. Clark frowned. "Is that the letter George had?"

Lex shrugged and opened it—it contained a credit card and nothing else. Lex huffed and laughed a little. He turned it over and over in his fingers as the others stood and watched silently.

Finally he handed it to Clark with a rueful smile and Jonathan let out a little sigh of relief.

Clark grinned happily at Lex and cracked the card in half before dropping it on the drive, seconds later a blackened lump of melted plastic smoked on the gravel.

Jonathan smiled at them both. "I’m going to check and make sure we didn’t leave anything in the house. Martha, you coming?" She nodded and with a smile at Lex and Clark, followed Jonathan.

The SUV’s horn sounded and they walked down the drive as the driver got out to meet them.

"Hey, Whit! Wow," Clark exclaimed. "Sam let you drive his car?" He cast a little sideways glance at Lex, who studiously ignored him.

Whit grinned and then turned to Lex. "Hey Red, you okay? Was that the Bastard?"

Lex shook his head. "No, he sent someone else to do his dirty work." 

Whit nodded, shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned at them. "Well."

Clark ignored him and looked inside the vehicle. "Nice, Whit, nice."

"Yeah, until I get my own car, we‘re sharing this one."

Lex smirked. "Of course." He looked at Clark. _‘Told you so.’_

"Yes, yes, for god’s sake and they all lived happily ever after!"

"Hunh?" Whit looked at the two as if they'd suddenly gone nuts right in front of him. "Ooh-kaay. Anyway, I came to wish you guys a safe trip—I’m not gonna say goodbye cause we’ll see each other plenty soon, I’m sure—we’ll come to the city a lot on business, you know."

They stood motionless, quiet, overcome by feeling.

"Wow—this is…it’s really fuckin’ over." Whit said, and gasped. He swiped his hand across his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Don’t do that!" Lex snapped and his eyes were red too. 

Another car swung into the drive, spraying gravel as it came to a screeching halt and Pete jumped out. "Whit! Damn it! I was looking all over for you!"

Whit whirled around. "Pete! Get over here!"

It was like something huge and too tight suddenly snapped—they were hugging each other, arms wrapped tight around each other, and fuck it if they were acting like a bunch of girls, Whit yelled.

"What the fuck! I mean, shit…what the fuck!"" Whit laughed, "It’s been a fucking strange bunch of years."

Lex scrubbed at his face, slightly angry that he’d given in to tears, but the feelings were too much to contain. "And in all this time Whitney, you haven’t learned to express yourself any better."

"Yeah. Fuck you too, Red. I know you love me," he grinned.

Pete nodded, "Yeah, it’s been damn strange…I love you guys, you know that, right? And Lex—I really do forgive you for Raphael—"

"Fuck you Pete," Lex spit out a choked imitation of a laugh and he squeezed Pete’s shoulders.

Whit looked at Lex. "Red…."

"Shh!" Lex stopped him. He shot a look at Clark, and Clark nodded. Lex palmed the back of Whit’s head, tugging a little on the long hairs against his neck, kissed him and said, "Thank you, thank you for everything you did for me." 

Whit shook his head "You mean for everything I did to you" and tried to pull away but Lex reached out and grabbed Clark’s arm, and pulled him closer, and Clark reached out, took Whit’s face between his hands and said, "Thank you for saving my life." and kissed him.

Whit gasped, laughed and this time let the sob out. "Fuck that, Clark—you guys—you saved _my_ life. Without you…without you…"

"Shit! Knock it off! And I ‘m not kissing you, so forget it!" Pete let the tears run freely down his face. "It won’t ever be the same anymore, will it? It’s over, it’s all…all…" he dropped his head and kicked hard at the gravel and Whit grabbed him into a hug. 

"Hell no, it’s not over—it’ll just be different, that’s all." Clark said as he slapped Pete carefully on the back.

Lex nodded. "You’ll never be rid of us." He grinned a little shakily at Whit.

"Yeah, Pete," Whit said, and rubbed his knuckles across Pete’s head. "Still the mouseketers, forever!" 

" _Musketeers_ forever, asshole," Pete replied and tried, not very hard, to push Whit away.

"Forever." Lex said and threw his arm around Pete’s free shoulder.

"Forever." Clark said, and grabbed Whit’s hand.

"Forever." Whit nodded. "Hell yeah." _Forever_

 

_I can see you-  
Your brown skin shinin' in the sun  
I see you walkin' real slow and you're smilin' at everyone  
I can tell you my love for you will still be strong  
After the boys of summer have gone._

_Boys of Summer by Don Henley_


End file.
